


The Account of an Argonian Maid

by secretsheik



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Deviates From Canon, F/M, M/M, Morrowind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 92,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsheik/pseuds/secretsheik
Summary: For many, the "Lusty Argonian Maid" is a fictional character. For Laje-tal, it was a part of her life she'd rather not be reminded of. She tries to make a new way but after a misunderstanding, she is exiled to Vvardenfell to find out what is going on. (this will undoubtedly be a long fic)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should better explain things here, in case there is any confusion. On a different fanfic site, I had posted a Skyrim fic with this character (same pairing, etc) with everything starting up from that game. She was also a character I really enjoyed playing in the Morrowind game, and that's where she came from. I created a backstory for her that I actually found pretty interesting and felt that I wanted to share more details about it. This will cover some highlights and details from before the Morrowind game and continue from there. I intend to go on into the Skyrim things too so yes, this will be quite long. The fic I have already up is over 110k words and counting. I'll do my best to make it entertaining. If you're here for Skyrim content, it'll be a while before this gets there. Constructive criticism and tag suggestions appreciated. (and better title suggestions, for that matter)

Listha-Kei and her mate, Kanelm-Mul, crouched low under the sparse foliage of the outer rough plains of the Morrowind fringe, little cover provided by the scraggly plants. Ahead, two Dunmer were leaning over a table, looking over a map with their backs to their unknown audience. For years now the Arnesian War had raged, both sides struggling to get the upper hand. This, in comparison, was only to be a small battle among many so far, but removing two skilled mages would hurt the opposition. As for the Argonians that now approached, they too were mages in their own right and cast a spell on themselves to aid their attack.

The two Dunmer barely managed to react to the ambush, one backing away to draw a bow while the other cast an ice shield and drew a shortsword. The Argonians were a surge of dark brown scales and curved swords, charging forth to meet their foes in a fierce clash of steel. Kanelm-Mul pressed the woman archer back, driving the two away from each other. His mate dueled with the man, her sword sending a shower of sparks to the ground as their blades met, a small brush fire ignited in the overly dry grasses.

In the aftermath of the burning plains, not one of them made it out alive. The last of them succumbed to her injuries, and Listha-Kei's last thoughts lingered on the egg she had left behind at their base. She would never know her child; she wouldn't even find out if it was male or female. All she could do now was surrender to the voice of the Hist as it called away her soul from her body.

* * *

The blazing afternoon sun hit at just the right angle to hit his mirror, sending the reflected brightness right into his face. It happened every day, yet Aryon couldn't be bothered to shut the shades or move the blasted mirror. Instead he crouched deeper into his chair, brows furrowed tight as he frowned at the book he was reading. The young dark-haired Dunmer man was yet again holed up in his small, cramped quarters in Blacklight. It felt even smaller with all of the books he kept receiving being piled high to the ceiling, making his foul mood even worse. For the last fifty years, his whole life so far, he had spent his days studying. Being a high-ranking Telvanni wizard required quite a bit of knowledge, and he had his eyes on making it to the top. Maybe then things would finally change.

The sharp rap on his worn door would have startled him if he didn't know who knocked like that. He groaned quietly to himself and rose to answer it. “Yes, Master Neloth?”

The man, one of the eldest Telvanni and master enchanter, often had a sour, put-upon expression on his lined face, but today he looked even more so than usual. He presented a sealed set of official papers – or at least they had been sealed until Neloth took the liberty of prying the seal open and shoving his nose into the young man's business. “Looks like the Argonians attempted to take the camp where your parents were stationed.” His expression didn't change, despite the terrible news he bore. “No survivors, including the attackers. I was in the second camp at the time, but our spies managed to get the names of the ones who attacked. Mages, both.” Neloth tossed the slip of papers onto a nearby desk, unperturbed by Aryon's shocked face. “Hmph, well I'm going back to camp in two days. The Grand-Magister wants to see you, by the way. You'd better get there soon.” With that he was gone, a mere flick of his robes left in his wake as he slammed the door shut.

Aryon's hands shook as he took up the papers left behind, prying open the loose seal and skimming over the words. He somehow made it back to his uncomfortable, beaten up wooden chair, his plain robes awry as he slumped heavily into it. The sun had dipped enough to not be casting its reflection in his eyes, yet he still felt them sting at the thoughts running through his mind. His parents were dead, the Argonians with them. While he hadn't had the best relationship with them, they had still been an important part of his life. That they had pressured him into school and study until he wanted to break didn't factor into the loss he now felt.

With a sigh he filed away the papers into a folder to sort later, not sure what he wanted to do with them. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do with himself right now, either. All that was left in the abnormally empty thoughts was his goal to progress, to gain knowledge and skill so that he could finally be acknowledged as a noble Telvanni. Briefly his thoughts lingered on the names of the two dead Argonians, and he hoped they met whatever fate in Oblivion they had earned.

* * *

_Third Era, 396_

When Laje-tal hatched, it had been in a burst of tremendous fire. She had somehow managed to set her shell completely aflame, and yet she herself was fully intact. After the camp she had been laid in was overcome by Dunmer soldiers, she and all other Argonians in the camp had been captured, the adults taken in as slaves. An egg was of little immediate use, so she had been left in the temporary care of an old Argonian maid at a particularly pathetic orphanage. Barely a year after arrival, the poor old maid had died, leaving her to be looked after by the Dunmer matron who owned the building, raised among children who looked nothing like her.

Now, at the young age of seven, Laje-tal watched from behind a thick iron fence and a brace of shrubs as one of the orphans was led out the front door. There was only one reason, she had learned, that any orphan was allowed to go out of the front door. He was leaving. Her underfed housemate was being looked over by a man in full chitin armor, even checking the boy's teeth like she had seen farmers check guars. Then, the man passed the old, sour matron a small stack of coins, all while the woman looked around to make sure the neighbors weren't watching. This had happened many times before. Guards or nobles would come in the guise of adopting a child, but it was all to put those children to work in places unknown. It was only a matter of time before she was taken too. She was well aware of what she was, and what her kind had been frequently used for.

At a loss Laje-tal crept into the one blind spot near the back edge of the building just as she had done many times before, shrinking into the crevice to practice her magic. For as long as she could remember, she had been a natural mage, the power coming to her almost by pure instinct. No sane person would train a pathetic Argonian orphan, she reasoned, so she hid her ability and practiced alone. The matron was apathetic towards her charges until they started complaining or begging for food, or when she decided a stiff beating was in order, so it hadn't been hard to escape now and then. With her strong sense of smell, Laje-tal located a few small shalks the size of her fist in the dirt. She speared the insects with a sharp stick and summoned a small flame to her hand to cook them.

Hungry orphans would eat just about anything, and she was no exception. Her forays into the fenced yard did give way to more food, if not escape. The thick wrought-iron fence had been driven deep into the ground and into underlying stone, the terrain too rocky for any serious digging. Under these rocks, however, she found a nice, big centipede and cooked it up too. If she fed magic into plants, she discovered they would grow much faster than was ordinary, so at times she could manage to grow them into food too. In all, she was the best fed of any of them. She might have been gracious enough to share with the others if they hadn't tried to harass her by pulling her tail or throwing stones. No, the rats, dead birds, snakes and insects were all hers. Those frail soft-skins would probably get sick from it anyway.

One year passed, and she knew the day had come. The matron was going to sell her, she just knew it. Her most likely destination was life as a slave. Her mind spun, trying to come up with some way to escape. The fence was still too strong for her small body to climb or get through. A guard would probably be sent to keep her from running. Her best chances lay in going wherever she was to be taken and go from there. She may have a chance if she hid her magical ability and used it at the right time.

When the matron called for her, she was already at the woman's side. Obedience resulted in few beatings, but anticipating her needs led to even fewer. The matron's tired red eyes fell on her, a sigh escaping her lips. “There you are, child. Come now, there is a nice young man from Tear here. He's considering taking care of you from now on, so behave yourself.”

Entirely unconvinced, Laje-tal's calculating, golden slitted eyes met hers. “How much are you selling me for?”

The question earned the small Argonian a harsh pinch on the face, which she didn't regret. “Hush now, you're being adopted by this man and I don't want to hear otherwise.”

She had no idea if it was because she would most likely never see this woman again or if she had lost her mind, but she felt very bold in this moment. “You sold all of the others. I saw you do it.”

“No more of this nonsense, you're coming outside right now!” The matron ushered her charge out the front door, which was typically locked with no less than three separate locks. To see the outside world from this angle only happened once – leaving for good.

Outside, a man in thick bonemold armor awaited, his armor rare in these parts. A small transport wagon pulled by a rather large guar waited for them. She hadn't seen a guar so large before, the lumbering creatures of the nearby farms and mines usually short and thin. The reptilian beast grumbled as the stranger looked her over. “Well, at least this one isn't as thin as a stick.”

Laje-tal endured the inspection as just like all the rest, her deep brown scaled skin and teeth were looked over, resisting the urge to twitch when he grabbed at her tail. Her horns hadn't grown in yet but he probably would have looked at those, too. Then, just as predicted, out came the coins. She couldn't help but shoot a look at the matron, who decidedly ignored her. When the man led her into the cart he tied her hands together with thick rope, which she found amusing. This could be easily burnt by her magic, though he would likely just try to catch her if she did that. She peered up at his bonemold helm as they sat in the cart, unable to see his eyes. “How much did you pay for me?”

Startled by her sudden, unexpected question, the guard turned quickly to her, stuttering. “W-what?”

“I want to know how many coins you gave her,” she insisted.

Surprisingly the man removed his helmet, his sharp red eyes baffled. “Why in Oblivion would you want to know that, of all things?”

“I just want to know.” Her eyes met his, unafraid and inquisitive. “She wouldn't tell me.” Both of them were jerked roughly as the driver urged the pack guar forward, heading onto the rocky plains down an ill-kept road. Her captor watched her, confused but at the same time intrigued by her tenacity. Finally he answered her.

“Fifty drakes.”

She looked out the small window, wondering if that was a lot of money. Quietly she thanked him, wondering if the amount of money was what she was worth. Did people buy workers who weren't slaves? Why did they buy children? Several questions roiled through her mind, not the least of which was where they were going. Tear, from what the matron had said. What little she had heard about that place wasn't anything good. She strongly suspected she would end up in some sort of mine, and as it turned out, she wasn't wrong.

* * *

In the farthest corner of the tiny slave shack she now resided in, Laje-tal lay on a small rough patch of ground. It was cold, but it was hers. The Tear glass mine had a total of thirty slaves, and her addition made for an odd number. Nearby slept a Khajiit man who was so old and gray she sometimes found herself waking in the middle of the night to check if he was still breathing. He stirred, mumbling. At his advanced age, he couldn't work the same sorts of duties the others took on, so he was charged with minding children and fetching supplies. As the only child, she was the only one in his shack.

Dro-jelan woke, his thin crooked tail clinging to his hammock as he rolled over. He often woke in the night but he now seemed to be looking around, wondering where he was. Nowadays he did that more often than not. Laje-tal came to his side, ready with a jug of mazte. She pulled her raggedly clothed arms closer, feeling chilled. The mazte was quickly downed by the old Khajiit and he looked down at her, confused. “Who...? Oh, yes, Dro-jelan remembers. You are new child.”

She had been there a month already but that was beside the point. This was her chance. Dro-jelan was the only slave among them that could read, and she was determined to learn. He may just be so far gone in his mind now that he forgot he had refused her before. “I saw a new sign they put up, what did it say?”

He sat there in his hammock, groggy, clearly trying to remember. “Hm, it said that we all must be in our beds on time, yes. Don't worry about the signs, little one. Dro-jelan is always in bed on time.”

Frustrated, she cut to the chase. “I want to be able to read them.”

Frail old Dro-jelan, however, wasn't entirely far gone and he frowned down at her. “No. Reading isn't allowed. Dro-jelan has told you this.”

“Then why put up signs?” She tugged at the edge of his hammock, knowing it would jostle him enough to wake him up more. “If we can't read them we won't know what to do.”

“Don't fret, child, the master always tells us where to be.”

She frowned. This wouldn't do at all. “Teach me or I'll run away.”

“Dro-jelan knows better,” he groused. “Running makes you caught, badly beaten. You will not do this, you must stay so Dro-jelan will not be missed when he passes.”

That reminded her of one thing she could still try. Khajiit often referred to death as passing to the moons, and always had a wistful tone when they spoke of it. “You have said before that one must always read for the others. Who will read for everyone when you pass to the moons?” That seemed to do the trick. Dro-jelan looked up to the ceiling, a short purr issuing from his throat.

“No one. No other can. Always need one. Dro-jelan must show you.” His bones creaked and joints cracked as he rose, making his way to a nearby table. The old mess of wood was nearly as broken and creaking as the man himself, and she worried that both wouldn't make it through the year. From the drawer he withdrew a worn scrap of paper, an old notice. “Never practice outside. Never.”

She nodded, eyes bright and eager. “Never. I promise.”

* * *

Two years later, Laje-tal stirred in the night and found that sometime since the last time she woke, Dro-jelan had passed away in his sleep. His cold, stiff form had been laid to rest in the wilderness like so many others, grave unmarked and secretly mourned by a few slaves who knew him. As for herself, she was alone. Ever since she came, other Argonians were too caught up in their work to notice the small scrap of a girl who brought them water or carried away buckets of raw glass shards. One, however, paid her too much attention.

Mular-da had a very bad habit of chasing women. Whether it was his fellow slaves or even the master's wife, no woman was off-limits from his advances. One Khajiit woman did humor him from time to time, if only because it kept him tame and she didn't mind it, but everyone else barely tolerated even conversation with him before chasing him off. Every time he looked at her, she felt those appraising eyes waiting, it seemed. Waiting for what?

One day Laje-tal looked down at herself and realized what it was. She had heard rumors of Mular-da advancing on girls if the women grew too coy. Thanks to her habit of continuing to forage for food at night and growing plants, she was quite well fed and for some unknown reason, she had started to mature into a more womanly form early. She had grown in places she had seen him staring at on the other women.

“Why hello there,” came a voice from behind her, one she dreaded. Every day since she had grown tall enough to just meet his shoulder, Mular-da would leer at her, and only occasionally did he have the bravery to approach. Unlike the others, she would fight him physically until he backed off, rather than run to the guards. The guards, in turn, never interfered in what she did to him. Mular-da had no allies here, and none were beaten or reprimanded for causing him harm.

Laje-tal hissed, baring her teeth and whipping her tail furiously behind her. She grabbed a nearby pickaxe, though it was still very heavy to her. Despite this she lifted it as well as she could, the steel tilting at a bad angle, ready to try to swing it if he came too close. His pale blue and gold skin looked sickly under the low amber lights of the mining cavern, and the sounds of the other miners were too far away for her liking. It was bad luck that she was stuck here picking up small glass shards left behind. “No, stay away! You're supposed to be down in the west mine!”

Unfortunately Mular-da seemed more determined than usual, tilting his head forward in a threatening show of thick, curved horns. “Ah, but there was no guard. He fell and had a terrible accident.” He grinned, light glinting on his sharp teeth.

A pang of fear shot up her spine at the implication. He may well have finally killed one of the guards! The pickaxe fell from her hands, discarded when she realized she now needed to be fast rather than threatening. Mular-da charged but she was small and nimble, as well as experienced in evading him. Her tail lashed, gashing his face, and she didn't hesitate to kick at him with her sharp toe claws. Despite being scratched and bloodied, he pursued her around the cavern, blocking escape.

Driven to desperation, Laje-tal grabbed a long, sharp shard of glass, not even sure what she planned to do with it. She had fought, but never like this. Her vision went red as she felt her survival instincts churn through her blood, urging her to put an end to this. There was one thing she had that he didn't – magic. The magic-draining bracers were too large for her small arms, and she was too young to be considered dangerous. Every night she practiced, unlocking basic spells, and she carefully charged her unarmed right hand with a shock spell.

Mular-da wasn't put off by her magical ability, and even seemed perversely pleased with how difficult a target she was. Her spell hit him with full force, his form jerking violently from the bolts traveling through his blood vessels, tracing red lines all down the front of his body. He recovered quickly, lunging, and before she knew what had happened her left hand moved forth in a powerful thrust, stabbing him straight through the heart with her spear of glass.

In the aftermath, no one witnessed her actions, though everyone knew she had killed him. She had been the only one assigned to the area, and she was well known for her frequent violence towards him. While she had received a relatively light beating for it, she accepted her punishment with an inner smile, not regretting it one bit. Killing a guard was punishable by death, after all, and she had no qualms about her role in all of this. From then, however, every slave avoided her entirely, terrified by her bloody murder. She found she didn't mind it. After all she had been through, she preferred to be left alone.

* * *

Today had to be the day to escape. More time had passed since the incident with Mular-da, and she had grown enough to be considered for the magic-draining slave bracers. Luckily she had found just the thing she needed to cause a distraction large enough.

Nobody had paid much mind to a leftover spellbook that had been dropped behind a bench one day, but she had swiped it up like so much treasure, learning all from it that she could just as she had secretly learned to read to begin with. It was a complicated spell, one she had worked and worked on for the past two years, absorbing the strange terms and instructions with only half understanding. Now was the time to put it to the test, ready or not. She crept deeper into the bowels of the caverns, down to a place few came into. There was a dangerous sort of gas, from what she heard, but if it was flammable, she had her escape ticket.

A guard passed by on his rounds, refined bonemold armor gleaming in the wan light. Again she was grateful for her dark scales, not the blue or gold of her fellow Argonians. She closed her eyes, letting the guard's gaze slip right over her. Once he was well enough away she crept low, trying to sniff out that gas pocket she had just started to smell. It didn't have much of a scent, but she could somehow tell it was there. The trick now was to get close enough to launch a fireball, hide, and then make it behind the guards that would probably pile in. Not having any better plan she picked a likely corner, unleashing the ball of flame deep into the heart of the gas.

The explosion that followed was louder and more violent than anything she could ever have thought of before. Her ears rang with the sheer noise and pressure of the blast, disorienting her long enough to lose focus. Thankfully everyone rushing through the tunnels weren't at all focused on her, and she managed to recover enough to move in the opposite direction. In the confusion she eluded most of the people that ran past, and at long last, light glowed in the distance. Escape! Just as she rounded the corner, though, she heard a rough voice call out.

“Wait. Take me with you.”

There at the bend in the cave was a young Dunmer man, reddish hair filthy and the rest of him dangerously thin. Was he also somehow a slave? She could hardly turn him down. Dunmer or not, they were both in the same position. He might be able to help fight their way out of here. “Alright, come on then.” Handing him a small scrap of metal so he might try to pick his way out of his bracers, they hurried along while secondary explosions rocked the cave all around them.

“You did this, didn't you?”

She just nodded at him, not wasting time on too many words. They had finally come to the outside world, the sun beaming down on their grateful faces. It had been far too long since she had had the sun on her scales. As welcoming as the open field was, they kept low to the ground, evading more incoming guards and workers rushing to the site. Once out of sight enough to think about where to go from here, she frowned down at his progress on the bracers. “Let me have a try at them.”

“Might as well. If you can get them off, I'll be a lot more useful. A bit of sorcery might teach those fools a thing or two.”

His comment was reassuring; knowing she had a fellow mage with her was a relief. “A sorceror? Good, maybe you can tell me more about this.” Taking a moment to hand him the spell tome she had been looking at, she set about picking the lock. “If I can just make out that last passage, I can get us out of here for sure.”

He frowned at the book once he saw what it was. “You really mean to summon a flame atronach? Here, in the mine?”

“No, not in the mine, in front of the main house. If I can do that, it'll force the guards to go defend it and the mine at the same time, and then we can get the others out too.”

“You're crazy.” He paged through the book, though, and glanced at the last passage in it, all written out in Daedric. “Hmph, well it's in Daedric script. It says to pull the soul force towards your plane, concentrating it on the spot in front of you. Will it to look away from you, and focus on the enemy.” Looking down at the scrawny Argonian child, he had his doubts that she could even manage such a spell. “You're really sure about this? We could just set fire to the house.”

“No, they would just put it out. I need something that lasts longer. If you want to run, then go.” Finally the latch in his bracers came loose, freeing him from the draining spell. “Do what you want, I'm going.”

The redhead sighed a rueful sigh. “You won't be able to do it alone. You might be crazy, but I'm not one to turn down a little payback. Let's go.” His magic now restored, he summoned up a strong shield. They avoided the main road, sneaking near the house where the owners of the mine lived. It was naturally a fine house that was most likely filled with fine things, and with any luck they were fine flammable things. Just in sight of the door they stopped, and Laje-tal readied herself to cast the spell.

“I really hope this works.” Spacing her feet apart just as the book instructed, she drew upon her unnaturally large reserves of magicka. She never knew why she had been so tuned into magic, but right now she was glad for it. Focused fire melded at her fingertips, the conjuration spell surging into her mind. Then she felt it, the soul force the book had mentioned. It would have taken her by surprise for sure if she hadn't had that last passage translated. Drawing it out, she set her focus on the space of dirt in front of her, willing the creature not to look at her. The Dunmer man would be protected by his natural resistance to fire if she failed, but she didn't want to be burned to a crisp either. Just when it seemed like she might lose the spell, a fire atronach materialized before her, its sights set right on the thatched roof. It worked!

“Come on,” the man said quickly, pulling her away. “You managed to do it, but you better get away before it starts to wonder where it is. Let's wait near the mine and see what happens.”

She didn't question his advice, simply grateful he was giving it to her, and they hid in a crevice close to the mine as they watched the destruction. The thatched roof was almost immediately afire, the flame atronach roaring its defiance mindlessly. Its roars attracted the attention of the guards again, and once the two were sure the last one had come out, they saw a couple slaves had already had the idea to leave, a few Argonians and Khajiit scattering in every direction. “Maybe we don't need to go back in there for them after all.”

“Maybe not. Since you made one of the tunnels explode, it isn't safe in there anymore. I'll bet the guards were the only thing holding them back.” Sure enough a few more ran out of the cavern as the ground both above and underneath shook from further explosions, verifying the suspicion. “We'd better run too before the guards catch on. If the others don't think to escape, then that's just too bad. They're on their own.”

It was a cold logic, but a true one. She knew there wasn't much choice. “Alright. Where should we go?”

He laughed under his breath. “All of that planning and you didn't think of where you were going? I know a place, an Imperial town. Slavery may be legal in Morrowind but the Imperials don't want anything to do with it in their towns. I've got a few... friends out there who could help us.”

Her brow furrowed as her suspicion grew. “You're a thief.”

“No, no! I just, you know... get the right things for the right people, go through certain channels, and...” Feeling a bit nervous under her stare – which he shouldn't, she was just a child – he drew back from her scrutiny. No, she wasn't just a child, she was a child who just summoned a flame atronach like it was nothing. “Yes, sometimes I do a thing or two for them if they need it, but really it's all business! I just got caught, you know? That's why I was doing this stint in the mine, those guards caught me at it.”

“Thought so.” Craning her neck to see if the coast was clear she motioned him to come along. “Doesn't matter to me. If you've got a place we can stay until things die down, let's go there. Thieves Guild connections are probably better for an escaped slave anyway.”

“I've got Mages Guild connections too if it comes to that.” They both crouched in surprise as an explosion of flame shot off inside the house, the building bursting into pieces as guards shouted to each other. Nobody inside could have survived that. “Let's go.”

It was a long, hard run filled with evading and fighting, their reserves low from the hard life in the mines. Wild animals were avoided at all costs, some diseased or acting strangely. Nights were taken in shifts, not risking a fire and keeping a wary, watchful vigilance throughout. One night, Laje-tal finally asked a question she hadn't thought to ask yet. “What's your name, Dunmer?”

He gave her a bit of a smirk, noticing that she had called him a Dunmer, not just a dark elf. “Edd Theman, everyone just calls me Eddie, or Fast Eddie, whatever suits. If you ever need a bit of something here or there, I might be able to get it.”

* * *

As expected, Eddie did indeed have a way with finding the right people. He was clever and watchful, paying attention to every small detail of what people did. Apparently that was a necessary thing in a place like this. The town they were in was near the city of Mournhold, the great center of Morrowind. It was said that one of the Tribunal, Almalexia, lived and had her temple there. Something so grand was beyond her ken after living in the back of nowhere for so many years, but she knew she wanted to see it someday. In a small but tidy inn, they now sat in the back of a side room, a red-haired Dunmer woman across from them. Her posture was relaxed, her clothing plain and unassuming, and her smile did seem genuine. She was apparently Eddie's contact in the Twin Lamps, an organization dedicated to rescuing and rehabilitating slaves. Even so, they stayed wary.

“So, you must be Laje-tal,” the woman said, drawing their attention. She took in the young Argonian's tense pose and nervously twitching tail. “It's alright dear, I won't hurt you. The Twin Lamps have been around for generations, helping people all over Morrowind. You don't need to worry. Now, I think I may have found a nice family you can stay with, if you want. They're Imperials, but they have a good holding and are willing to provide you a place to live if you're willing to work for them.”

Laje-tal wasn't convinced. “It sounds like being a slave again.”

“You would be paid,” she assured, smiling at her sharp observation. “Also, if you find another place you want to work in later, you are free to leave at any time. You don't have to do this, but you might have trouble finding work on your own.”

Eddie nodded, facing her with a troubled smile. “I'd hate to see you begging in the streets, my friend. This isn't just a job, it's protection. Slavery is legal here, remember, and nobody would stop any slavers taking someone like you who is unaccounted for. I know you aren't familiar with Imperials, but they don't tolerate slavery. They would keep you well cared for.”

Her horned brows furrowed, concerned. “Where are you going?”

“Well, I can't join a family like you can. Too old, surely. I'm going to see if any of the Telvanni remember that they owe me a favor and go from there. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm still a Telvanni no matter what, I'll find somewhere to be and even send letters to you if you want.”

“Can I be a Telvanni?”

Eddie laughed when the woman across from them nearly choked on her drink. “Ah, you might not want to do that. They don't like Argonians very much. You're better off here.”

“What about my magic?”

Now he frowned, considering the problem. She had a point there. Eddie glanced at their contact, unsure how to approach this. “I did forget to mention it, but Laje-tal is already quite the mage. Her magic seems to be compulsory, if you'd believe it. There are mages who accumulate magicka even if they already have plenty, and the only cure is to use it up or take a poison. Argonians are immune to all known poisons, so there needs to be time allowed for magic practice. I recommend having training as soon as possible. Overfull mages are a great asset if well trained, and dangerous if not.”

The woman considered this fully, twisting a bit of her long hair between her fingers, staring at the ceiling. Finally she seemed to have an idea. “Alright, I know an Altmer near here who has been researching Dwemer ruins. A bit eccentric, like most mages, but agreeable enough. I think he might be interested in training an overfull mage. Such an opportunity is rather rare.” She held her hand out to Laje-tal. “I am Lenassa, by the way. Lenassa Hlaalu.”

Laje-tal eyed the offered hand dubiously before reaching out, offering a small, tentative shake before she withdrew. The prospect of magic training was too good to ignore. “I'll go.”

“You will?” Her brows arched high on her tall forehead. “You don't want to think about it?”

Eddie chuckled, draining the rest of his drink. “One thing I've learned about this girl is that when she sets her mind to do something, she does it! Even if it's summoning atronachs!”

“Blazes, child, you summoned an atronach?” Lenassa's eyes were as wide as could be. “How did you manage that?”

“Oh it was ludicrous, she found an old spell book on it and learned the spell. I helped her with the parts in Daedric. What? Don't look at me like that, it was a good idea! Turned out alright, anyway.”

Clearly suppressing what she wanted to say due to the presence of a child, she limited herself to a few choice words. “By Azura, Eddie, that was rash and insane! I will insist that this young lady be given proper training so she doesn't burn idiots like you to the ground!” She took one last sip of her drink. She needed it.

* * *

When Laje-tal was to meet the family of Imperials she would be staying with, Eddie agreed to go with her and see if they were suitable. The house stood on a low hill, surrounded by grassland and a few other homes and shops. It was moderately fancy, with several rooms and windows, a place that looked fairly grand to her. Later she learned that the place was quite average in comparison to some places afar, but out here it was very prominent. Hlaalu nobles from all over Morrowind and the Vvardenfell province would often come to meet here. Her role was to be a maid, cleaning and eventually cooking for the household, managing their linens and dishes, and other domestic duties. It did, at least, outshine the atrocities of slavery in a glass mine.

The lower level of the house was mostly pale stone and small, sparse wooden additions. The upper floor had mud and daub styled walls, whitewashed and wooden framed. Hard clay tiles formed the roof, a rarity with most homes sporting thick thatch. A few decorative plants and statues softened the austere structure, making it seem more welcoming. Eddie approached with her and knocked on the green wooden door, waiting until an Imperial woman answered.

While the woman did seem a bit tired, she had a kind smile. Her formerly dark hair only had a few strands left that weren't gray, and there were a fair few strong wrinkles on her face, but she seemed relatively happy and glad to meet her guests. “Oh, yes, welcome. Miss Lenassa told me you would be coming. Come in now, we'd best get you fed, yes indeed.”

Laje-tal made a small face at the woman's tone and Eddie smiled with a roll of his eyes behind the woman's back. He then urged her along into the entryway. Just to the right, a short hall led into the main kitchen and modest dining room. They were quickly seated at the table where the woman pulled a few dishes out of the warm oven. It was simple fare, a few cooked meats, vegetables and roots, but much of it was food she had only heard of. Was this for her? She looked over the spread, then to Eddie, who handed her a plate. “Go ahead, have some. Take it easy, though, your stomach isn't used to being full. You'll be sick of you have too much, believe me.”

Trusting his guidance, she let him dish up her plate, hardly believing her eyes. Most often she had subsisted on rice, bittergreens, ash yams and whatever she found under rocks or creatures menacing the store rooms. She stayed quiet, not wanting to say anything that may jeopardize her access to food, patiently waiting until her half-full plate was before her. She reached for a bite of meat, but the maid cleared her throat to get her attention. “Use your fork, dear.”

Laje-tal had seen wooden forks, but the one near her was metal. She took it in her left hand, holding it just as Eddie held his, spearing the meat and taking a bite. The flavor was unusual and rich, unlike the crudely roasted messes she had made. “It's much better than rats.”

Eddie barely held back an outburst of laughter when the poor maid gasped, her small hands over her mouth in shock. “Heavens, child! Rats, of all things! Oh dear, oh dear...”

She had a feeling she shouldn't talk about all of the other things she had eaten, never mind that they had tasted just fine. Instead she ate her food slowly and quietly until her appetite had been sated. Some food was still left, but she was sensible enough not to gorge herself. While it was good, she had to trust that there would be more later. “Thank you,” she said, remembering her manners.

“Well, at least you are polite. If you mind yourself, you will do well here. You'll have magic training, as has been arranged, but we'd best teach you proper protocol as well. We get very important visitors here.”

Protocol. That sounded boring. Still, she supposed her magic training had to be earned. “Alright.”

The maid turned to Eddie with a heavy sigh. “Goodness, is she always so short on words?”

He merely shook his head, chuckling. “Only with people she doesn't know. Well, my friend, I must be going now, but I can write to you if you wish. I'm sure I'll have a few decent adventures."

“We can read the letters to you, too,” the woman offered.

Laje-tal deferred that with a slight shake of her head. “No need. I can read it.” Quietly she considered the letters, and thought that she would indeed like to read them as well as write back. If he was to go out and see the world, she wanted to know more about it.

“Alright then, we will get you settled in and see your friend out. Come now, time's wasting.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

Life as a live-in maid started simply for a child. Laje-tal wasn't quite yet fit for the hardest work, so much of her early time was spent being taught. She would scrub and shine the wooden and stone floors, sweep, mend clothes and tidy rooms. The work was taxing, but it was worth it for what she learned. One of the older members of the household, a Breton man, taught her about Imperial history, protocol and geography. While she was especially wary around men, he had such a straightforward approach to everything that she found he seemed safe enough. It was also apparently proper protocol to not make unwanted advances on others, which was a relief. There would always be people who disobeyed the protocol, but she was expected to be professional and courteous.

There had been a plethora of information to take in. She had had no idea how much of the world there was out there, and she tried her best to remember all of it. Her tutor shared stories of his travels to High Rock, Cyrodiil and some parts of Skyrim. Several cities took her interest when he described them at length, and she wondered if she would ever see any of these places.

One day she asked about something he hadn't mentioned. “Have you ever been to Black Marsh? That's where I'm from, right?”

He gave her a kind smile. “Your people are, anyway. You were born here in Morrowind but yes, Argonians do generally live there. I haven't been there, but I've heard it's bad for traveling.”

“Why?”

By now that question had been asked time and again, but he enjoyed her curiosity. “Well, there are many insects that spread disease, poisonous creatures, thick jungles and not much else. It's hardly the sort of place that someone goes to for pleasure.”

“Why do they live there, if it's so unpleasant?”

“Ah, you see, Argonians are immune to poison, very resistant to disease, and have the ability to breathe underwater. To them, the swamps don't pose much of a challenge. They adapted to it.”

She sat very still, tense and curious. “Will I go there someday, do you think?”

He smiled. “You're free now, child. You can make your own destiny if you work hard.”

* * *

Laje-tal did indeed work hard, especially when she heard she would be reviewed for magic training. She was eager to not have to burn off fire in the fireplace or make nearby plants grow unnaturally large. Her mentor was an older Altmer man who had been studying the Dwemer for most of his life. He would be showing her basic control and if she showed aptitude, perhaps even more. His current place of study was just outside town in an ancient Dwemer tower. Thankfully the place was free of the usual mechanical guardian centurions and spiders, so it was deemed safe enough for her to travel there.

She was escorted to the tower by one of the eldest maids, who would accompany her during her lessons. When asked, she was told the maid was there to help maintain her virtue. Her confusion resulted in a fairly awkward conversation explaining to her what virtue was, and she was yet again glad she had killed Mular-da before he compromised this apparently important quality. She didn't mention how close she had come, or about her actions. Imperials seemed to be very particular about those who had committed some sort of crime.

Upon meeting her potential instructor, she surprisingly found that she liked him. The old Altmer man was very focused on his studies and disliked the thought of wasting time dallying with women, but he also didn't find her gender to be an obstacle. Altmer men and women both held a more equal standing among each other than Imperials, differing mostly in their level of skill and personality. He sat her down at a large stone table, her maid hovering nearby. Calcelmo, as she learned, was quick to evaluate what he was working with.

“So, I hear that you are quite the mage already, young lady. A mage with overflowing magicka, one who somehow learned to read and even summoned a fire atronach. Oh yes, I heard about that from your friend. You're not in trouble, certainly, I'm rather impressed. You'd better learn the correct way of conjuration, though, before you try something so reckless again. For now, I want to evaluate your current skills. Try a fire spell.”

“Yes, sir.” That was easy. She generated flames to her hand immediately.

Calcelmo inspected everything from the way she held her hand to the shape of the flame. “Good form, decent output. I assume you're holding back?” She nodded. “Great control. You've been using this spell quite a bit?” Another nod. “Indeed. We should see how much power you can generate when you don't hold back. See that stone wall over there? I want you to hit it with all you have! Don't worry, there's nothing flammable.”

Laje-tal rose, facing the tall, plain wall. It did look very strong, as most Dwemer buildings did. She hesitated only slightly before hitting it with a small burst of fire. When she saw it was alright, she hit it with a fiery stream, increasing the flow until it stung. Never before had she tried to strain her limits like this, and it felt very strange.

“Oh! Oh good! Yes, look at that! Go ahead and stop now.” He waited until she seated herself again, smiling at her success. “That sort of power is what I'd expect from one of my own kind, You must come from a long line of mages, surely. Can you use other elemental magic, such as frost or shock? Anything other than that?”

She brought to her hand a shock spell, lightning flickering wildly in her fingers. “I can make a charm for you if you have one of those blue or green stones.”

His graying brows furrowed. “Stones?” He sat back, puzzled. Could she be talking about soul gems? Did she know some rudimentary enchanting? “I think I know what you mean. These?” From a side drawer he took a few filled lesser and petty soul gems and a few common rings, placing them before her.

“Yes, those are good ones.” He had given her a few gems to choose from and an array of different rings. This could be some sort of test. She looked over each ring, choosing a steel ring with a garnet in it. Rings did seem to do better if they weren't just plain metal. Then, to his surprise, she sniffed the soulgems.

“What in blazes are you doing?”

She only continued what she was doing. “I'm finding which one has the most magic.” One petty soulgem was the strongest smelling, a peculiar scent she could never describe, and she chose it from the pile. Then, holding the gem to the ring, she poured into it pure magical power and bound an enchantment to the ring. Satisfied with the result, she handed the ring over to him.

“Well how about that.” He inspected the ring with a practiced eye, turning it this way and that. The enchantment was very crude, naturally, but it was done well enough. It seemed to have a small restorative spell attached to it, a fairly common charm. How she had determined which gem to use, though, was most intriguing. Now he set before her a very large collection of gems from lesser to grand. “Which of these do you think is best for a strong enchantment?”

Laje-tal had never seen so many gems like this before and her eyes widened. She came back to task, though, and smelled each in return. In the end, she handed him a grand soulgem with a Dremora Lord sealed in it. “This one.”

“My, my.” He took the gem with a smile. “In all my years, I've only known a few other mages who can smell magic, and some of them were like you with overflowing magicka. Anything else you've been trying?”

There was only one other thing she could think of but as she glanced over the stone walls, tables and numerous book shelves, she didn't see a single plant. Not one root or seed was in sight. “I don't see anything I can use for plant magic.”

“Ah, growing food, I take it? Yes, that explains quite a bit. I think I may have something you can try. Oh where is it...” He rummaged through a few drawers and muttered to himself, tossing aside random assortments of alchemical ingredients. “Ah! Yes, well, I suppose this will have to do. Here, see if you can make this one grow. I'll bet you've never seen such a thing before! It's a seed of a white lily from the gardens of the Imperial City. Don't worry, I have more of them.”

She took the small, off-white seed, the tiny thing barely visible in even her small hands. It was true she had never seen such a thing, and she had never tried to grow anything from a seed. Most of what she had grown were from established roots and partially grown plants. “I will try, sir.” Feeling uncertainty creep into her spine, she held the seed gently between her palms, sending small amounts of magic into the husk. Something so small most likely wouldn't enjoy being forced with too much magic, so she leaked small amounts into it until it started to unravel.

Little by little the roots sprouted from the hard husk, spreading and tangling down onto the table. As the roots grew more complex she closed her eyes to focus harder on the center, increasing the magical flow to the stem slowly emerging from the top. She had no idea how long she sat there, feeding a steady stream of magic into the roots but eventually she felt his hands pull hers apart. “You'd better stop right there, look at that. It's just about to bloom.”

She held the plant away from herself in shock, watching as a large white flower bloomed from the center of the spreading green lily pads. Even her maid looked up from her knitting with interest. “There are flowers like this in the Imperial City?”

Calcelmo found a bucket of water nearby and transferred the plant from her grasp, always encouraged when he saw such interest in scholarship. “Indeed, I do enjoy collecting some interesting things from afar. Say now, what was our agreement? Training once a week?”

“That's right.”

“I don't think that will be quite enough. You'd best come every day unless you are too ill or are otherwise unable to come. I will insist that you help me on my research, but I do believe you will require far more than just basic training from me.” His smile was warm and kind, one of the few such smiles she had ever received. “Some of us are born to be mages, child. You can bring about a great deal of good to the world if you work towards that end. All you need is to find a way.”

* * *

Laje-tal's magic studies were the most interesting part of her days. She never shirked her duties for the Imperials, still doing whatever was asked of her, but she still looked forward to spending her free hours learning about the vast and intriguing world of the arcane. Most of the early work covered control and stamina, practicing spells over and over until she could cast them without even thinking about what she was doing. They rehearsed changing elemental spells from one to the other, back and forth, switching to shields and barriers. One hand could hold a destructive spell while another could hold up a barrier, being offensive and defensive at the same time. At times they would even hold practice duels, launching spell after spell at each other until they were drained. However, one day Laje-tal faltered early, collapsing to her knees and holding her head in pain.

The Altmer was startled by the sudden unexpected action and barely pulled back a spell he was just about ready to hurl at her. When he came close, he saw that she was bleeding from several points on her head and brow, tiny pricks of bone breaking the skin. He sighed with relief. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to go over restoration magic. It seems that you are growing into your horns.” It took some coaxing to get her to sit at a table, the pain too strong to think straight. A soft white-gold glow flowed from his hands as he urged the magic into her throbbing skin, easing the nerves screaming in agony.

“It's like being hit with the spiked whip, only on my head,” she said quietly with a groan, resisting the urge to hold her head. Whatever he was doing was helping and she didn't want to interfere.

“I suppose that's not entirely inaccurate. You have quite a few spikes coming in, from the look of it.” He avoided her mention of the spiked whip, not wanting to bring up her horrific past. Instead he concentrated on his restoration until the swelling went down and the pain subsided into a dull ache. A small damp rag was placed nearby. “Let's clean you up and get you home.”

She did clean the blood from her head carefully, trying not to snag the cloth on the new spikes now protruding from her head. “Are we done already?”

“I'm sure you want to go get some rest and sleep off the worst of it. I've heard growing horns can be quite painful for Argonians, especially if there are many of them growing at once.”

“It's fine,” she insisted, getting to her feet and taking a stance. “I've had worse.”

“I'll say one thing about you,” he said with a chuckle, “you sure have tenacity. Good. You'll need to learn to endure pain in the midst of battle. Come at me with everything you have!”

Their lessons continued as the days wore on, and she did indeed have to cope with quite a bit of pain as her horns came through. At times the pain was only an ache and itch, driving her into scraping against trees or wooden posts to help the process along. She did at least be mindful of whose posts she scratched against, and tried to choose trees that weren't owned by anyone. Finally one day the pain stopped, sometime during a lesson on Daedric lettering. Small horns jutted from her eye ridges and several more atop her head, and she had developed more colorful rusty hued markings on her throat and red beneath her eyes. Right now she was more focused on the ink coming from her pen properly.

“Neatly now,” Calcelmo urged, looking over her work as she practiced. “Try to space your letters properly but close enough together to save space, it should be easy to read but not take up too much room. There's little worse than taking down important notes and not being able to read them later.”

She took great care with the ink, writing in close, tidy characters as he fussed with a Dwemer mechanism. It seemed to be another coherer, though this one was in better shape than the last one. Bits and pieces were strewn all over the table, wires and gears and any other strange things in different piles. Something was off, however. The machine suddenly started to smell like magic. That smell only increased, peaking sharply in a sudden burst. “Master, stop!” Her instincts reacted faster than he did, swiping the coherer and throwing it against the practice wall, the mechanism exploding in a burst of shock energy.

Calcelmo looked on at the smoldering, broken mess that used to be a coherer, suddenly understanding what it was she had done. “Gods above, that thing still had an active magical trap in it! Thank you, I honestly didn't see that thing react until it was too late. Perhaps I'd better have you check any future mechanisms for magical remnants. As you see, Dwemer research can be both rewarding and hazardous.”

Curious, she approached the now defunct coherer, picking it up and inspecting the mangled wreck. Deep inside was where the magic had come from, and she pried the pieces apart. From the middle, she pulled out a small soulgem, small enough to have gone unnoticed in a short inspection. “Look at this. Someone put a soulgem in here. It must have powered the trap.”

“You may just be right.” He turned the gem this way and that under the bright overhead light, inspecting it closely. “Odd, I've never seen a coherer modified with a soulgem. I wonder what other sorts of Dwemer mechanisms could have the same thing. Yes, well, why don't you finish up that lettering and then you can come help with my research. I'm quite curious to see how this thing works.”

For years after, Laje-tal helped Calcelmo's research, notating and theorizing alongside him. She had come to the point where her enchanting skill was enough that people in town often visited the Imperial manor to have items enchanted for a fee. Some of the coin would go to the manor, and some to Calcelmo for his efforts, the rest going to her own profits. After learning alchemy, she also supplemented this income with any potions she could make up and sell. By the time Calcelmo needed to leave Morrowind, she had made a tidy profit. She was saddened to see him leave but knew it was for the best. His research was to cover as many Dwemer ruins as possible and he had finished everything in the area.

The old Dwemer tower was still an unclaimed ruin, so Laje-tal kept on using it as a place for her studies. There was no reason to not use it, especially if she wanted to try something potentially dangerous. She could leave unaccompanied, now that she was fully grown, and she enjoyed the solitude after working during the day at the manor. Her work load was rather full there, but she managed to make the most of her situation. All of it had been going quite well until one particularly bothersome man showed up.

* * *

Crassius Curio was a man of mixed renown. He was a Hlaalu councilor in the great house, and was considered very important. However, he was also terribly lecherous. She had been warned about his tendencies, as had every woman within a hundred miles, and she promised to try to remain as professional as possible. It proved to be one of the hardest promises she ever kept.

Laje-tal had been in the midst of cleaning a spare room that was to be his quarters while he stayed in town. The fireplace tended to get particularly dirty, and so it happened that while she was there, scrubbing down the marble post with a stiff brush, he came right in and startled her. “Well well, did the mistress really send me my very own servant?” Despite herself she had looked, taking in a brief glance of the dull, aging Imperial man. She tried to ignore him but he either didn't notice or ignored her back. “I say, my fair lady, are you here to serve me?”

Hiding a roll of her eyes she answered him curtly. “No, I'm simply here to clean your chambers. I'll be finished soon enough.”

Sadly, a man like him didn't take being shoved off easily. “Is that all you came for, my sweet? My chambers?”

This time she sighed under her breath, directing the slightest frown at him. “Yes. Once I'm done, someone will be along with your linens.”

“Such a shame,” he purred. “Alas, to see one with such a fine, shapely tail lay down my linens would revive an old man such as myself. I am so weary from my travels...”

Deep down, she wanted to show him just how very uninterested in his weariness she was. No, she understood exactly what he was getting at and needed to find a way to escape. Unfortunately she hadn't quite gotten a particularly tough soot stain off the mantle. She cursed every speck of ash as she scrubbed it away. “I'm sure you have better things to do than harass the maids. I must finish cleaning and you are distracting me.”

“Cleaning, you say? I have just the thing.” From an unseen corner he drew out a long, steel spear, holding it out to her. He gestured, trying to get her to take it. “Here, why don't you polish my spear?”

Taking one look at it she could tell it was tarnished, needing the attention of a specialist. She could enchant things, surely, but something like this wasn't her job. “I don't take care of such a thing. You would do best to see a blacksmith.”

He wasn't so easily dissuaded. “Nonsense. I'm sure your strong yet gentle hands could revive even the most wanting of spears, restoring life to them until they stand proud and tall.”

Just like that, the last bit of soot was off the fireplace, and with it flew her patience. She left without a word, not wanting to grace him with even a response.

During their next unfortunate encounter, she found that the insufferable man had found out her name.

“Why hello there, Laje-tal!” Yet again he had found her, right on schedule with when she was set to start cleaning. Wonderful. “You know I was wondering, what does your name mean? Not that it doesn't fit such a beautiful creature, but I don't know what to make of it.”

Gritting her teeth, she set about straightening his bed covers. “In your tongue it means lifts her tail. A lifted tail is a sign of health and strength. It doesn't do to drag one's tail on the ground like a sick animal. If you were to actually consult those books of yours you would see it is a common enough name.”

“Oh.” Not sure what to think, he defaulted to what had brought him here to begin with. “Maybe you can solve this conundrum of mine... I don't think I've been doing it quite right.” He took out a dish full of raw bread dough, poking at it. “Would you know what the next step in making this would be?”

She stared into the bowl, the enormous amount not even kneaded yet. Even she knew better, and she wasn't one of the cooks. “You made too much, you'll need two pans for that, and you had better knead it first. Ask one of the cooks about it.”

“The next step is to knead it?”

“It needs yeast, and needs to rise, but yes. Again, I don't know.”

Risking a curious glance, he offered her the bowl. “I don't quite know how. Would you... knead my loaf for me?”

This time she didn't conceal her narrowed eyes, though the lurch of her stomach at the disgusting man was thankfully invisible. “You shouldn't even have such a thing out of the kitchens. The mistress would have a fit if she noticed it missing. You had better return it.”

“Oh don't fret about the mistress, she will get her appetite sated well enough.”

Laje-tal barely managed to mask the horror that crept into her mind at what he was insinuating. So much for the mistress's virtue. Dropping the covers as they lay she left, giving up. He would just have to make do with what she had already gotten done, job or not.

One day, Crassius came to her with a sword. At this point she had no idea how long he intended to stay at the Imperial manor, as he had already stayed long past the expected one week. It felt like he would never leave and he was pushing her patience severely. “Pardon me, my good lady, but I heard you may be able to enchant my sword.”

Unfortunately everyone knew that she was an enchanter, so it was impossible to evade this one. She sighed to herself. “Perhaps, for a fee. What sort of enchantment would you like to have on it?”

His grin was unsettling. “I would love for my sword to be able to... restore stamina.”

It took all she had to not say something foul. “Indeed. You may leave the sword and a filled soulgem with the mistress and I can have it done for you by tomorrow.” She knew he wouldn't.

After ten separate incidents, one very clearly referring to something very inappropriate she could do with her tail, it was plain he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. Only at night, when she had the excuse of magic practice, could she be left alone. While out in town one night, she heard that Barenziah's caravan was going to be coming through town. The queen of Mournhold was beloved by everyone in Morrowind, and she was passing through for political visits. As she sat in the corner of a local inn, having a drink of mazte, she had a very interesting, if a bit crazy idea. The queen would likely have several guards in her caravan, and a mage who could smell out magic might just be useful for that caravan. It wouldn't hurt to ask.

* * *

On a fair sunny day, a long string of brightly colored travel wagons rolled into the town, magically powered to coast on their own. Guards set up tented pavilions for themselves and the nobles, the place looking like one of the fairs she had heard about. Laje-tal requested a rare day off to see the spectacle, which was only granted because none of the caravan were visiting the manor. Two armored Imperials were sparring with wooden swords nearby, drawing her attention. Sword fights were rare in town, the area being largely peaceful, but she enjoyed watching them whenever she could. She came close enough to watch but stayed back, not wanting to distract the fighters.

“You there! Mage!”

It took a moment for her to realize that someone was calling out to her. Belatedly she realized that she had gone out in her mage clothes, so he must have recognized her. She turned on the grassy field to see a tall, blond Norseman. What was going to happen now? At a loss, she greeted him. “Yes, sir?”

“Here.” He tossed her his mithril axe, the weight light enough for her to catch without pause. “Think you can put a strong frost spell on this? Enough to freeze some bandits?”

She looked over the axe, noting the fine tooling and the even set of the blade. It seemed to be of a high grade material and well made. “Certainly. Do you have a filled soulgem?”

“Yeah, here.” From his rough armor he pulled out a full greater soulgem, tossing it to her with an odd glance. “Huh. Didn't know we had an Argonian in the camp.”

So, the man had mistaken her for a caravan mage. For the moment she didn't correct him, binding a strong frost spell to the axe in moments, soulgem disappearing as usual. “Here, have a look. Think this will do?”

The Norseman took back the axe and checked it over, seeing that it did indeed have what he was looking for. “Not bad. I'd better go to you next time rather than that idiot Bosmer. You'd better get back to camp and help him, he's making those damned potions again.”

Suddenly she had gotten herself into helping the caravan, and though she knew she probably shouldn't be here doing this under false pretenses, she genuinely did want to help if someone was having problems with alchemy. One wrong ingredient could mean the difference between life and death. She was also terribly curious, honesty be damned. Several people milled to and fro, setting up the camp, repairing gear and weapons, gathering food and preparing supplies. He led her to an outdoor alchemy lab where indeed a Bosmer man with tan hair and a bewildered expression was trying to make potions. The Norseman approached and looked down at the discordant mess.

“By the Gods, what is that?”

The Bosmer, flustered, presented a bottle. “Ah, health potions. I think.”

Laje-tal took it instead, smelling it. “Damage health poison. Why are you making potions for the others if you're not sure what you're doing?”

He wiped his hands on a rag, sighing down at the mess. “I'm a mage for battle, not for... this. Our only alchemist is sick and they all seem to think I'm fit for the job! I do want to get these together but I'm better off blasting bandits apart.”

Glad he didn't have any negative intentions, she gave him an understanding smile. “It's always good to practice things outside your main study. You never know when it might be needed. Here, let me show you.”

For the next hour, Laje-tal found herself in the role of teacher rather than student. She showed the Bosmer a few basic potions and techniques, just as Calcelmo had done. She was so wrapped up in what she was doing she barely noticed when the queen herself had come to the lab.

Barenziah, clothed in her comfortable travel clothes rather than official robes of state, looked down at their progress with a pleased expression. “Well now, what have we here?”

Laje-tal, shocked and a little horrified, turned to regard the older Dunmer woman as gracefully as possible. She knew she had no business being here. Swallowing her worry, she nodded with respect. “Apologies, my queen, but I couldn't help noticing that this man needed instruction. I didn't mean to intrude.”

From behind her the Bosmer man chuckled in a friendly manner. “Oh don't worry, everyone here helps everyone out. I didn't know the caravan had an Argonian, though!”

Barenziah gave her a knowing smile. “We don't.”

Laje-tal was going to apologize again when she smelled a magical disturbance behind her. “Get down!” Without thinking she dragged the queen to the ground just in time for them both to avoid a powerful shock spell. The blast wasn't lethal, but it would have still hit quite hard. A small group of bandits appeared from the dense tree line, armed with bows and shortswords. She reacted instinctively just as she had been taught, lashing out with her own spells and summoning a storm atronach. The bandit mages were good, but her reserves and daily training were starting to pay off. After a gruesome fight, the bandits were all eliminated.

Thankfully Barenziah stayed low to the ground, wisely not interfering with the magical battle. When all was over with and clear, she approached Laje-tal with a startled but grateful smile, brushing the dirt from her clothes. “Ah, thank you, Argonian. You have shown bravery and selflessness despite the strained history our two races have. I do believe you would be an asset to us, if you would care to join my guards.”

She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. A guard for Barenziah? It all sounded too good to be true. “I would be honored,” she said, bowing deeply. “I must settle my current affairs but I would be quite willing to serve in any way possible.”

“I have matters to take care of as well, and plan to have the caravan present for the next week. Come by when you are able and we will discuss the matter of your instruction.”

* * *

Far away in the northeast corner of Vvardenfell, Aryon looked over the mess that was his stronghold. At the Grand Magister's recommendation, he had been given the right to be a master in the house and construct a stronghold on the province. Making it at the site of an Imperial fort, however, had come with a unique set of problems. The Telvanni grew their stronghold homes out of monstrous fungi, plants endemic to Morrowind. An Imperial fort just north of Vos had been struggling to coexist with the people of Vos and had allowed him to attempt to host his stronghold there, hoping it would decrease tension there. A wizard tower brought revenue.

At first, the growth of the tower had gone perfectly well. The main structure latched around the underlying stone tower without breaking the outer wall, roots delving down into the ground and out. As more and more was added, however, the roots grew out of control, piercing into parts of the wall and down into the dungeons and lower halls, collapsing several rooms. Luckily few had been hurt, his warnings of caution heard and obeyed, but the damage to the lower levels was disastrous. Most of what had been ruined were unused rooms or dungeon cells, so at the very least not much had been lost. He was still concerned about not being able to control the growth in the first place.

It shouldn't have gone like this. The root samples had come straight from Blacklight from the Grand Magister's storage room, the acceleration crystals as well. He had used everything recommended to him right down to an instruction manual, yet it had somehow gotten bungled all the same. It seemed as if fate had it out for him, but he couldn't have any idea about what was actually yet to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been significantly edited to make it consistent with later events.

Ch. 3

At the end of Barenziah's week in town, Laje-tal gratefully bade farewell to the Imperial manor. Her work there hadn't been overly problematic, but they all knew her future lay in being a mage. The chance to work as one excited her, now free to use her magic whenever she could. Guards and workers had torn down and packed away the camping materials, moving out boxes of items with haste. She found the other mages easily enough and was evaluated for the best place to be stationed in the group. While on the road, she was to stay ahead of Barenziah's wagon, her ability to smell incoming magic important in defending the queen. On the side, she was to help the Bosmer man she had already been aiding with potion making.

Laje-tal had never traveled like this before. There had been the harried escape from the glass mine with Eddie, but this caravan was to travel all over the mainland. She made sure to write to Eddie's current residence to let him know she had moved on, hoping his letters would make it to wherever she would be next. He hadn't been able to find his friends among the Telvanni, but he managed to get some work in other guild business. Hopefully he wasn't also making trouble.

At first, her presence in the caravan was quite the novelty, whether for good or ill. Most of the others were Dunmer, Nords, Imperials or Bretons with a scant few others. The Imperials warmed up to her a little when they heard of her prior home, and after a bit of convincing they taught her the art of swordplay and archery. Eventually she was granted her own sword and bow from storage, and now skirted the edge of the lead wagon with the scouts and primary guards. She occasionally sniffed out magical traps, hidden runes and other surprises on the roads. There were fewer incidents, and by extension happier guards. One night as they camped in a dense forest, a lone figure caught her eye.

In a high tree near camp, she spotted an unusual shape. He was well hidden but she could smell the magic items he carried and soon spied his hiding place. The man had a tail and horns, just like her. Another Argonian. She bristled, watching him warily. Nearby a low campfire crackled, none of the others close to her position. If he attacked, she would be on her own until everyone was alerted. His bold green eyes darted, meeting her stare in a tense glance. He knew she saw him. Her position didn't change, still sitting on a log near the fire, watching and waiting. White, sharp teeth flashed in a grin before he crept away into the darkness.

For the next five nights the mysterious Argonian man watched their camp. Laje-tal always managed to find him, much to his chagrin. He would look at her, surprised, and make a quick escape. On the sixth night he gave up the hiding and revealed himself, just on the edge of another group of trees. His clothes were clearly that of a thief, his scales nearly as dark as her own. She was startled by how similar they looked, each of them with a rust colored throat and red streaks under their eyes. Finally she spoke. “Who are you?”

He grinned, his voice rough with with an Argonian accent. “I might ask you the same. You always seem to find me no matter where I am.” Beneath the nearest tree he crouched, watching her watch him. “They call me Hides-His-Shadow, though it seems I can't do that very well right now.”

Laje-tal stayed wary, not fooled by his casual mask. No doubt he would act against her if she gave him the opportunity. “You can't hide from me, you'd best leave.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But perhaps sometime you may see me but fail to see me.”

Her brows furrowed as her suspicion grew. “What do you mean?”

“You might see me and not tell the others while I go about my business.”

“Never.” Now she tensed, ready to draw her sword. “I am sworn to guard this caravan. I know that you thieves are only trying to get by as best as you can, but I will stop you if I must.” She drew a small sack of coins she had saved, tossing it at his feet. “Take that and go if you must take something.”

The other Argonian only laughed, throwing the coins back at her. “It's not the money, marsh sister, it's the chase, the heist. Money is only a product of the work.”

She burst to her feet, drawing her sword in a sudden swipe towards him, scaring him back with the sharp movement. As hoped he escaped into the depths of the outlying shadows, well away from her post. Returning to the log she had been resting upon, she mentally went over how she planned to handle this very insistent thief. She resolved to find every way possible to ruin his fun.

* * *

For the next few days, Hides-His-Shadow attempted to steal from the caravan and each time he was foiled by Laje-tal. Once, she left an expensive-looking ring enchanted with a spell of burden powerful enough to freeze him in place, leaving him with no choice but to abandon his prize. She enchanted a plain wooden box to look like a golden cask filled with precious gems but had actually been stuffed with wriggling centipedes. Each time he kept returning until finally she decided to just catch him once and for all. It was around that time that Barenziah found out about these nightly episodes and came to see for herself what was going on.

That night Laje-tal sat by an outer campfire as usual, waiting to see if the bait she had set out would be taken. From the camp, Barenziah approached and sat with her, dressed as a common worker. By now, Laje-tal was used to the queen doing any number of peculiar things that a queen generally wouldn't be known to do, so she didn't question it.

“Is he here?” The queen asked in a whisper, red eyes scanning the outer edge.

Laje-tal nodded just barely, keeping her voice low and sword ready. “Yes. I intend to catch him tonight.”

She watched her guard with curiosity, head tilting just a bit. “Most of the time my guards just kill thieves.”

“Thieves are used to that. They aren't used to being outwitted by their prey, however. There are surely other thieves who have wondered why he has had such trouble with his target, and by now he must have had several embarrassing stories to tell them. This will not only be a good punishment for him, but a warning to the others that we are not to be taken lightly.”

Barenziah chuckled. “Fair enough. Just don't get in over your head.”

“I would certainly have asked for help if I had any difficulty with this, or I would have simply killed him. I won't endanger the caravan unnecessarily.”

Both went still when Laje-tal held up her hand, motioning slightly to the trees. They watched as discreetly as possible as the man crept around the edge of the camp, pretending not to see him. He then went entirely out of sight but she reassured Barenziah with a nod. She knew exactly where he was. The queen watched after him nervously. “Where is he?”

“Near my trap. He doesn't seem to know that I can smell the magic items on him, so I've been luring him into a few little surprises while I pretend to ignore him.” She grew still, listening. Suddenly the trap was sprung, a startled yelp drawing their attention as the Argonian man was dragged into the sky by an enchanted rope. He struggled, making the enchantment only latch on to him tighter. Laje-tal laughed in triumph, nodding to Barenziah. “I'd better go get him.” She looked up at her struggling prey and yelled out to him. “Don't bother fighting it, you'll just make it worse!”

The man looked completely incensed this time, his narrowed green eyes in a fierce glare blazing down at her. “I had a feeling you weren't some ordinary hired muscle. You're a mage, aren't you?”

With a wave she cast a levitation spell on herself, floating up to retrieve him. “Indeed, and it was my traps you kept being surprised by. You should have left well enough alone.” She grabbed the one end of the rope she hadn't enchanted, dragging him down to rest within the camp. Several guards were by then alerted to the problem but relaxed when they saw her bring the thief within the ring of wagons. Barenziah had by then come to the center to wait for the thief to be brought in, and watched the man with a piercing stare.

“So, who do we have here? Does anyone know the name of this thief?”

Laje-tal nodded. “He said that he is called Hides-His-Shadow.”

A few people muttered to each other in the group of guards looking on, some seeming to recognize the name. “Ah, the Argonian who has been pilfering this whole area's merchants.” Barenziah inspected the man intently, meeting his eyes. “You've stolen thousands of coins in merchandise alone over the past month. We shall be leaving you at the nearest town to await your trial.”

Hides-His-Shadow turned as well as he could to face Laje-tal, hisses punctuating his words. “You damned mage, you have betrayed our kind, handing me over to these elves!”

Laje-tal faced him, her words calm and firm. “Whatever relation we may have as Argonians comes second to the promise I made towards the queen. You had a choice whether to attempt to steal from this caravan or to leave, and you chose the wrong option. Now you will have to answer for that choice.”

“Indeed,” Barenziah stated. “Get this man locked up.” A few nearby guards came by to restrain him, removing him to a nearby armored wagon. When the queen moved away to leave, however, one Imperial guard approached her, looking nervous.

“Ah... pardon me, my queen, but what about our Argonian?”

Her brows furrowed, watching him closely. “What about her?”

He fidgeted under her intense gaze. “Well, it's just... the two look so alike, don't they? Maybe they're related or worse, working together! Maybe they know each other! It could be dangerous.”

Irritated, her eyes grew narrow, her tone icy. “Alright, the next time I see another Imperial who looks similar to you, I will be certain to immediately assume you are in league with each other. He might be a necromancer, or maybe a bandit king, it doesn't matter, does it?”

The guard backed away, mollified. “Ah, right, I see. Just trying to do what's best, you know.”

“What's best is to trust my judgment on who I see fit to employ. Go on now.” The man left with a bow, leaving the queen alone to shake her head at him behind his back. She wasn't alone, however, and she noticed Laje-tal lingering nearby in the shadows. The flickering firelight made the Argonian's features look sharp and menacing, but her look of gratitude was unmistakeable.

“Thank you, my lady. I know it's hard for the others to trust me, but I swear I will work hard.”

Barenziah offered her a sympathetic nod, glancing aside in thought. “This caravan is full of those who distrust mages, especially the Nords. There are also many who are still sore over the matter of the Arnesian War. As far as I see it, you had many opportunities to allow that thief to do as he pleased, each time unsupervised, and you didn't. What shift is your watch tonight?”

“I was to be on first,” she answered, taken back by the odd change of subject.

“Then I will entrust you with guarding that Argonian for the remainder of your shift. Don't let him out of your sight.”

Laje-tal moved back slightly with relief, glad that the queen was placing her back into a position of trust. She was determined to earn the faith she had received. “Consider it done.”

* * *

From that day onward, Laje-tal continued to defend the caravan faithfully. Her blazing magic readily took out any enemies she encountered with full force, her skills more refined with use. She had been encouraged to try using magical staffs to help focus her magic but after several of them broke after only a few uses, she gave up on it. Enchanting was still a frequent duty, and with help her sword skills and conjuration improved. Her destructive magic, however, was what she soon became infamous for. Whenever she seared her enemies with fire, blasted them back with shock or blew an entire group with a powerful rune, even the caravan mages started to worry about her excessive force. Barenziah saw the increased tensions in the caravan and despite Laje-tal's long track record of no incidents, she temporarily reassigned the Argonian to a post in Mournhold. It was that year that she first laid eyes on Almalexia.

It was common in those days for Almalexia to walk among her people in town, offering guidance and healing. The self-proclaimed goddess was as beloved as their queen and people would come from far and wide to see her. Laje-tal was stationed near the gate in the Plaza of Brindisi Dorom, watching travelers mill through the wide, open grounds inside the town walls. There were few if any disturbances in the sunny plaza, but suddenly her heart seemed to lurch in her throat. Before she understood what was going on or what she was doing, a force within her turned her head to lock gazes with none other than Almalexia. The godlike woman's fey golden eyes darted to lock with her own, almost as if drawn there herself. Laje-tal felt as if a piece of her very soul was trying to tell her something.

For quite some time now, she had been aware of a part of herself that felt unusual. It hadn't been alarming, it was more of a minor discordance than anything else. She had heard humans talk about having a sixth sense, a sense of knowing that something was near or amiss despite having no outward signs of trouble, and it was only that description that fit what she felt. To feel that sense actively cause her to move without her knowing it might have frightened her if she herself didn't get the feeling that this presence was right to warn her about Almalexia. Something was definitely wrong. Terribly, utterly wrong.

Laje-tal forced her glance away from the woman as she passed, every scale on her skin itching at the feel of the mystical energies radiating from the goddess' being. Almalexia watched her the entire time as she passed, coming so close that every swirl and whorl of the scrawling tattoo on her face stuck out in perfect detail, curls of her bold red hair jostled by the movement. Only when the woman was entirely gone did Laje-tal let out the breath she was holding in, every part of her on edge. She tried to rein in the multitude of things she was feeling. A broken promise. Betrayal. Foul murder, heresy, treachery. Beneath all of that was a strong feeling of familiarity. Despite never having seen Almalexia before, she felt like some part of her had known the woman for many, many years.

Returning to scoping out the plaza took an immense force of will but she returned to her duty, watching as everything around her went on as if nothing had happened. How? How could she have been so affected by this? The adrenaline still surged through her blood so intensely that she jumped with a start when someone came from behind her through the gate. “Good day, Laje-tal.”

She did what she could to mask her surprise, though she was worried when she saw that it was Barenziah who had greeted her. This wasn't a good time to show weakness, especially not in front of her accompanying royal guards. “Good day, Queen Barenziah. Forgive me for not greeting you as you entered.”

“It's quite alright. Almalexia just passed by, didn't she? Everyone is overcome by her presence upon first meeting her, it's no offense.”

Was that all? Had she simply been overcome by the woman's power? It was true that she was extremely sensitive to magical energies, and yet that excuse just didn't feel correct. That didn't explain what had felt. She suddenly wanted to confide in someone, to explain what had happened. One did not simply spill their soul to the Queen of Mournhold, so she worded her question carefully. “Have you ever felt that you have known someone for a very long time, even though you just met them?”

The queen tilted her head curiously just as she often did, not judging but still looking worried. She was also as sharp as ever. “Did you feel that way towards Almalexia?”

She averted her glance. “It did feel that way, yes. Maybe it was nothing.”

“People of great power, especially godly power, can cause a person to have many odd sensations. I once knew Tiber Septim, and he too had an uncanny ability to make others believe in him and follow him. A different power, surely, but one all the same.”

“I... see. Thank you.” The explanation was reasonable in her logical mind but the irrational, illogical part of her was screaming in agony. She was an accomplished mage now and had met several very important, powerful people. There was no way she was merely struck by Almalexia's abilities.

“Laje-tal? Are you quite alright?”

She hadn't realized she had paused for so long. Warily she glanced back at the royal guards and then back at Barenziah, meeting the queen's eyes in a glance she hoped would be understood. “I'm still a bit awed, I suppose. Go on ahead, perhaps we can chat another time.”

As always Barenziah saw more than she let on, a small smile on her lips. “Another time, then.”

* * *

Two days later, Laje-tal was called in to guard the queen directly. It was an ordinary request since her guards did often work in shifts, but the timing of it all was a big clue as to what was going on. No doubt they would continue the conversation away from the other guards. The royal chambers were in the palace complex, just one part of a few things the complex housed. Services were offered to the public by a few merchants, so guards were quite necessary to keep away wandering travelers. She, however, was stationed inside the queen's outer quarters, an honor she accepted with unwavering gratitude.

Decorative green and gold hallways twined through the complex, a veritable maze for the uninitiated. She moved through the halls with ease, familiar with the path she needed. Two guards allowed her through to the royal chambers, the outer room used as a receiving chamber. Only one other time had she come inside on an errand to fetch something, and she paused in the reception hall to glance around. Aside from some comfortable furniture, a few privacy screens and a few books and paintings, little seemed to express much about the queen herself. The room was decisively impersonal.

Laje-tal took her post by the door and before long, Barenziah came into the room from her inner chambers. “Greetings, would you care for some tea? Perhaps some flin? I seem to recall you like mazte.”

She chuckled, smiling. “I'm here to guard you, my queen, not to drink.”

“Herbal tea then,” Barenziah decided for her, a teapot already hovering above a small magical fire to heat up. Then, as expected, she brought up the pressing subject of Almalexia. “I am rather troubled by what happened the other day. It seemed that you had something to say that you couldn't say in the company of my other guards. You have been with me a good few years now and I can tell when you're hiding something. Did something happen?”

Laje-tal didn't bother refusing the tea when it was finished and sipped it appreciatively as they spoke. “I'll be frank with you, I'm uneasy talking with the other guards in the same way as we have talked. I know they worry about my ferocity in battle, never mind their worry about myself in general. You're one of the few who have seen past all of this, and I respect that. No, nothing happened,” she added when she saw Barenziah's worried look. “I do, however, feel that something very wrong has already happened and that Almalexia is the center of it all.”

The queen's eyes narrowed as she seated herself, taking the information in. Her inquisitive glance was open but calculating. “Oh? What sort of thing do you think she was involved in?”

“I'm not completely sure,” she admitted, “but I felt an air of betrayal and lies.” Hesitantly she continued. “Her magic has a foul scent to it, just as blood magic does. It seems improper to feel this way, but I feel as if her godly magic was gained in a very impure manner.”

Surprise shot through her at Barenziah's response, the queen's eyes lowered and dark. “You're not wrong, Laje-tal. You're not wrong at all. For many years the Temple has been suppressing all knowledge of this, but I remember what happened. Her power comes from the heart of Lorkhan.”

“Lorkhan? What, the god of mortals?”

“The very same. She and the other two Tribunal used some sort of method to extract power from it and used that power to aid the people of Morrowind. Their motives were good but they are now revered as gods, above and beyond the gods of old.” She frowned. “I wonder, though, why did you ask me whether I ever felt like I knew someone I had only just met?”

Laje-tal's spiked brows furrowed, golden eyes darting nervously. “It's strange, I know, but I did indeed feel as if I already knew Almalexia for many years. I also knew that that sort of question would be enough for you to be curious enough to ask me for more information. What you just told me... I know I can believe it because part of me already knows that it's true. It doesn't feel like you told me for the first time, but rather that you reminded me of something I knew long ago.”

Barenziah's expression suddenly closed, blocking off any chance of reading what was going through her mind. “Indeed... that is odd. Tell me, do you know about the tale of the Nerevarine?”

She paused. “Somewhat. I remember Nerevar Indoril from my studies, and how he fought at the battle of Red Mountain and perished sometime around that time. A companion of the Tribunal, friend to the Dwemer king Dumac. As the legend goes, he is to be reborn and is to restore Vvardenfell or some such thing as that. Why?”

“Ah, yes, well I believe you might want to read more about him, it may help you understand more about the history of Almalexia. Well, never mind that, let's discuss the news of the day.”

* * *

For several weeks onward, Barenziah's odd, digging questions continued, even when the caravan was back on the road again. Laje-tal was also instructed on the great houses of Morrowind and how they worked, though little was said about the Telvanni. It sounded like all she had been told about that house was all she needed to know, at least for now. Even still, she was very interested in finding out more about the great house that her friend Eddie hailed from. What little she had found in the royal library wasn't much but she took in the information eagerly.

On one fateful day, however, everything changed for the worse. The caravan paused on its way back to Mournhold, delayed by a severe thunderstorm. Laje-tal stayed out in the rain, her magic welling up again and taking priority over comfort. Fire magic was perfectly safe to practice in the rain, the vegetation too soaked to catch aflame, so she had been able to get quite a bit of practice in. Now she continued with her sword, fighting an invisible enemy before her, her magic down to a comfortable level. Nearby, a couple other mages were also practicing magic, but they were under cover and a bit too close to the storage wagons. She stopped in mid-stab, noticing the problem. Ignoring the increasingly hard rain, she headed straight for the mages.

Two Imperials were close to their area, unloading luggage. Some guards skirted the camp edge, eyes on the vast plains. Laje-tal neared the errant mages, speaking up to be heard over the pattering rain. “You'd best not practice that magic so close to the wagons.”

A rather irritable young Dunmer woman turned only slightly to her. “Back to your post, Argonian, we know what we're doing. Aren't you scheduled to lick Barenziah's boots?”

She took the insults as calmly as the hundreds of others she had received, facing the woman with a still gaze. “No offense intended, certainly, but it would be safer to cast your fire under the cover of rain. You're welcome to use the practice space I was just occupying, I'm finished.”

“I have no interest in anything an Argonian occupies,” she spat. “I'm bothered that we have to breathe the same air. Get out of my face.”

Laje-tal moved away to leave well enough alone but at that very moment, the other Breton mage erred in his fire blast, the orb of flame shooting straight toward a very heavy chest being unloaded from the transport wagon. The dry wood caught immediately, the blast hot and strong enough to cause the contents to ignite even from within. Guards nearby reacted, bringing collected buckets of rain water to extinguish the blaze. In the confusion the Breton man conveniently disappeared. She reacted quickly, charging fire and ice in each hand to produce water directly onto the fire, her strong reserves keeping the flow steady.

In the end, only three of the garments in the trunk were left undamaged. Several fine linens, even a few silks, had been destroyed beyond repair, few barely able to be saved for scraps. Barenziah now looked over the sad mess with a sigh. “Gods, what happened here?”

Right away the Dunmer woman who had been practicing in the area approached, finger pointing straight at Laje-tal. “It was that blasted Argonian! Her magic never has been normal, always springing up out of nowhere! She's a danger to us all!”

Laje-tal remained calm. “A Breton man was present here practicing magic with this woman very close to the wagons. I came over here to advise them against it, and the Breton's spell strayed.”

“Bah, everyone knows how erratic your magic is!”

Barenziah cut in, her voice firm and commanding. “Calm down. Are there any witnesses besides yourselves?”

“Just the Breton,” Laje-tal stated. “He disappeared while we rescued what was left. I would be able to describe him to you, and I'm sure everyone around here saw him in this area.”

“No!” the Dunmer woman interrupted with a yell. “There was only myself here, and I didn't do it. I will not abide the testimony of a lying Argonian!”

“Silence,” Barenziah ordered. “There is no room for blind hatred in my camp. I want each of you to take a room in separate wagons and await investigation. Go.” Onlookers then dispersed, Laje-tal with them. She intended to be as obedient and cooperative as possible, unlike the inane raging Dunmer woman. As instructed she waited alone in her preferred wagon until the queen came in to question her an hour after the incident.

Laje-tal nodded a greeting. “You spoke with the others, I assume.”

The queen looked utterly exhausted. “Indeed, that woman never shuts up. I do believe you, Laje-tal, I'm sure you weren't foolish enough to perform magic unsafely. Your mentor Calcelmo never would have allowed such an important thing to slip in your studies. Still, that woman is from a very influential family and that influence would be a problem in the future. She would use that influence to keep any other witnesses from talking, and even if I defend you, she will slander you all over town.”

Puzzled, she looked down at her scaled hands. “What can we do?”

“There is one thing,” she said quietly. “If we allow you to be blamed for the crime, as the victim I am allowed to choose what punishment can be given. Exile was recommended.”

Her blood nearly froze in her veins in shock. “Exile!”

“I know, you are innocent and this isn't right, but I have given this decision careful thought. You can't stay with us, my friend. I can't dismiss that mage, and she will certainly use her toxic nonsense to make things far worse for you. Even if I station you in Mournhold, a bad public opinion of you will make life difficult for all of us. Don't worry, I don't intend to exile you to a terrible place. The Emperor of Tamriel needs a very important project done in the province of Vvardenfell, and I am certain you are the right person to complete it. If you'll consent to this project, I will exile you to Vvardenfell.”

She knew it was true. Barenziah could indeed pardon her or declare she was innocent, but the public would be slow to convince if at all. Vvardenfell was in dire trouble from the frequent ash storms and the blight, but to an Argonian so resistant to disease it wouldn't be much worse than any other place. All she needed to do was complete whatever this project was and she could start a new life. “Very well. I will accept my exile.”

* * *

_Third Era, 427_  
  
Laje-tal glanced around the small city of Balmora in the province of Vvardenfell, considering the very peculiar project she had been sent here to complete. From what she had been instructed by the Imperial Blade Caius Cosades, the Imperials had been looking for more information on the Nerevarine Prophecy as well as the status of the Sixth House and its leader, Dagoth Ur. She had been given an unspecified time frame, plenty of time to get herself established in this new land before she got started. Now all of the pointed questions Barenziah had asked her made sense. She had probably been evaluating her for this important project.

“Out of the way, Argonian,” an armed city guard muttered, passing her by as she crossed the bridge leading to the other side of the river. She didn't bother to say anything and simply let him pass, noting the variation in the type of bonemold armor he wore. Balmora had a certain variety of local guards, as well as a local style of buildings. The walls of homes were constructed out of some sort of dense, hard clay, almost like stone when it hardened. Wood wasn't as plentiful as it could be, so it was reserved primarily for supporting posts and doors. She clutched the latest letter from Eddie close, scanning the homes for the house he was now living in. Gods, but it had been so long since they saw each other; she hoped he would be glad to see her.

The house she wanted was poised atop another, the home small but tidy. She hadn't let him know she was coming, intent on surprising him, and unceremoniously knocked on his door. The red-haired Dunmer man pulled open the door with a start, looking at her with a baffled gaze. He seemed well, if a bit roughly clothed and mannered, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What in blazes is going on? Who-” He pulled back in surprise when he saw just who was at his door.

Laje-tal shot him a wide, winning smile. “Why Eddie, surely you remember your neighbor in Tear!”

Stunned, he blinked, eyes wide with disbelief as he looked her over. “Laje-tal? Is it really you?” He took in her height, her well-kept mage robes and her horns. “Blast, has it really only been two years? It feels like forever since I last saw you!”

If they hadn't been out in public she probably would have been tempted to hug him, but as it was her smile said it all. “That's what you get for moving away to Vvardenfell!”

“Oh, you'd better come in before we cause a spectacle.” Ushering her into his small but comfortable home, he checked whether anyone outside had seen them before shutting the door behind them. “Sorry about that, but if anyone sees a Dunmer being friendly with an Argonian, especially a Telvanni, they will start asking questions. I got your last letter. So, you've been exiled to Vvardenfell. How's it treating you so far? I'll bet you've been called an outlander at least a few times already.”

“Twelve, to be precise! This is a very peculiar place, and I must say it has caught my interest. There are plants here that aren't present on the mainland, and I've been having a decent time learning how to turn it all into potions. This project I was sent to investigate and complete seems fit to send me all over the province, and so far I must say the wide variety of mushrooms here is startling.”

“That's what Vvardenfell is best known for! You'd best be careful, though, if you're going to be all over the province. There are a few places you'd better not go if you can help it. I'm sure you saw the Council Club as you first came into the city, they are very against foreigners and outlanders, they will certainly cause you trouble.”

“Yes, I know, you said it all in your letter, don't worry! Now enough about me. Have you finally connected with your Telvanni friends?”

“Friends indeed,” he scoffed, slumping down in his chair. “Yes, I found them but they are of no help. I don't know if they were bribed or threatened, but they won't talk to me. I do understand their position, they are under quite a bit of pressure and aren't high ranking. If they helped me they would only be putting themselves in a bad position and I don't expect them to do that. Ah, welcome to Vvardenfell politics, my friend.”

“Alas,” she agreed with sarcastic drama. “Well, I did what I could to learn the politics of the other great houses before I came here, Barenziah saw to that. I know you're worried but there isn't much I can do about it. I am in exile here because I agreed to orchestrate this investigation, and there will be places I go where people won't appreciate my presence. I promise I will be careful. Say, is there a good place around here to find other mages? A guild hall, maybe?”

Eddie nodded, lips pursed in thought. “Yes, we have guild halls here. If you go to Sadrith Mora, though, be sure to stay within the grounds of the Imperial fort there. The rest of Sadrith Mora is the center of the Telvanni and no place for you!”

“I'll be sure to watch out for your friends.” She laughed. “An Imperial fort in Telvanni country?”

“A city of two faces, one Imperial and one Telvanni, side by side. The fort was constructed to allow the two sides to learn more from each other, but I know the Telvanni have little interest in learning about the Imperials. Still, they tolerate trade and guild services, so you can still visit the mages there. They have an Argonian there who is studying Ashlanders, not much room for alchemy though. Oh... oh no, I know that look in your eye. Don't go out there, I'm serious!”

Laje-tal couldn't contain her curiosity but decided to try to placate him somewhat. “Come now, you said yourself that the guild halls are safe enough. I can't possibly pass up the opportunity to see a city like that, especially if it's Telvanni. Their mushroom houses are a sight to behold from what I've heard, can you really blame me for wanting to at least look at it? What's the harm in that?”

He only shook his head with a sigh, knowing that his protests were useless with her. “You're just as crazy as always.”

They shares a small, friendly laugh and she had to agree with that. “True but don't judge me, you are the one crazy enough to be friends with me after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm going to assume that the readers of this have played Morrowind and know how it goes. Some of the plot will be skipped since it's not necessary to go into intense detail about it if you have played the game. I will still cover the main points but won't go through every single quest, that would be far too much tedious detail about things you probably already know and I don't want to torment anyone with that.


	4. Chapter 4

Laje-tal's first impression of Sadrith Mora matched Eddie's description accurately. The two sides, Imperial and Telvanni, perched next to each other in an uneasy coexistence. Inside the mages guild, high in one of the thick stone towers, it was easy enough to ignore the outside world and the dangers that lay out there. She stood in the doorway, hesitant to come forth as she noticed that the eyes of most of the mages within the tiny hall were on her. Against the far wall sat the man she had been seeking, the Argonian studying Ashlanders. Despite years of no major problems with men, Skink looked just enough like the long-dead Mular-da that her old fears temporarily surfaced. Fighting down that fear, reassuring herself that Mular-da was very much dead and buried, she approached the other Argonian warily.

Skink was so wrapped up in a book that he looked up with a start when she approached. “Oh, greetings, marsh sister. Did you need help with something?”

“Pardon the intrusion,” she said with a polite bow. “I have been looking for you, actually. I heard that you in particular would be a fair reference for my studies. I believe you have been researching the Ashlanders and I think we can come up with a trade of information that would be a benefit to us both.”

He took in her mage clothing, her odd poise and peculiarly formal mannerisms, wondering who she was and where she had come from. She had never been seen here before, as far as he knew. “Is that so? What is it that you seek from me?”

Unsure how to approach the subject, she decided to begin as openly as possible. “I actually want to find more information on Argonians. I am from outside the marsh and have been among few of my kind. It has been hard to know who to trust.”

“Hm, yes, well I could use a great deal of information on Ashlanders, I would be willing to discuss an exchange of information. One thing I must tell you, though, is to not bow to another Argonian. When you bare your horns, you are looking for a fight. Many Argonians understand that bowing is courteous among the other races, but you will do better if you respect our culture among our kind. Lift your chin and show your throat, it is a sign of trust that the other will not cut it.”

Laje-tal took the information readily, not blustering out an apology or something equally irritating, lifting her chin in greeting. “Proper greetings then, this time. Thank you, I appreciate your aid. I will be sure to bring you as much as I can find on the Ashlanders. Have you heard anything in your research about the Nerevarine?”

Puzzled by her question, he stared at her curiously. “The Nerevarine? Well now, he is a curious subject. Perhaps we will have to speak more on the information you have to trade. Stay in town for a few days and we will see what we may share.”

* * *

For the next few days, Laje-tal stayed in Sadrith Mora and traded information with Skink, telling him about the Imperials, Mournhold and Ashlanders while he told her what he knew about the Nerevarine, the Sixth House and a bit on other Ashlander lore. She also wandered outside the safety of the Imperial fort, though she did what she could to not bother any of the Telvanni people too much. They gave her very suspicious glances and occasionally crude remarks, but she minded her own business and simply looked at everything around the city.

Eventually her inquisitive nature won out. For years now she had been unable to find out any more than basic information on the Telvanni, along with whatever little extra she could coax out of Eddie. Her assignment here on Vvardenfell had forced her to become more independent, no longer following orders and instructions. While she had been given some definitive goals, everything she did outside of that was on her own discretion. She now had her own personal assignment, and that was to investigate the details of the Telvanni.

Several species of giant fungi inhabited the city, along with a couple species of colorful mushroom-like trees. The massive roots of the nearby stronghold Tel Naga twisted and turned through the air and into the soil, fungi house pods poised along the edge. She had already found out that a very irritable Dunmer enchanting master took residence here. Master Neloth was extremely skilled but he made it known he had no patience for teaching anyone. One elegant structure near the docks looked as if it was made from some sort of opalescent crystal, surrounded by its own set of roots. This, she found, was the Telvanni council house.

She probably shouldn't have, but she entered the council house, too tempted to look inside and see what the interior of these structures was like. The council house, from what she had heard, often had many people coming and going from it doing business with the council Mouths, the people who spoke on behalf of their masters and handled daily business for them. The house was also well known for hosting the greatest mages in the province which above all else she found intriguing. Despite Eddie's warnings, it was tempting to pry further.

Anyone was allowed to join a great house, as far as she knew, if they had the necessary skills. Granted, outlanders weren't as well liked but the houses often allowed them in since they needed retainers and other workers. House Hlaalu made a habit of having many different walks of people within their ranks, and Redoran was conservative but willing to tolerate hard workers. House Telvanni was full of eccentric wizards, though they too would allow outsiders to aid them. Even they weren't entirely comprised of Dunmer.

The sad truth about the state of her training was that she wouldn't be able to learn much more from the mages guild alone, and the ways of the Telvanni appealed to her. Their rules were all but nonexistent, and even breakers of the rules could overcome that. If someone tried to frame her for a crime as had happened in the caravan, she would be allowed and perhaps even expected to exact revenge upon her accuser. For once, she could defend herself against injustice.

Yet again unsure if she was bold or insane as Eddie claimed, she decided to go inside and see if they would accept her into the house. Yes, she was definitely crazy, it was official. She strode into the council chamber, through the round golden doors and into a large room filled with glowing blue crystal formations and twisted wooden platforms that each Mouth awaited visitors upon. As soon as her presence was noticed the Dunmer folk inside turned to regard her with mixed expressions, unsure whether she was an errant tourist or worse. None seemed sure whether to greet her or ask if she was lost, silent and puzzled as she approached the man nearest to her on the right, a Dunmer man in extravagant clothing. It was now or never. “Good afternoon. I would like to apply to be a member of House Telvanni.”

The Mouths had enough decorum to not laugh at her outright though a couple coughed nervously and others looked at one another in confusion. After a moment the man she had asked recovered from his shock and addressed her. “There is no precedent of any Argonian holding a place within this house, but it is true that our rules don't state that one can't join. Are you quite sure about this?”

One woman shot a glance at him, aghast. “You can't seriously be considering allowing an Argonian to join!”

Galos only looked back, not at all bothered by her glare. “Oh come now, Felisa, don't you remember what you said the other day? I don't see why not.”

The woman backed down with a suspicious smile. “Hm, well I suppose.”

Laje-tal had a feeling about what was going on. She was to be some sort of joke in the house, she just knew it. There was no other reason for the laughter in their eyes. They hid that expression well but she had spent all of her life learning the things that Dunmer held behind their outer face. It still worked out in her favor and she decided to play along, turning back to the man with a deceptively sweet smile. “Would you really?”

Oh Gods, Galos actually gave her an indulgent smile back. What an idiot. “Yes, of course we will let you join the house. I'm sure we can find something for you to do.” Thus began the often wondered about and bizarre moment in the house's records. It was then that the council allowed an Argonian into House Telvanni for the first time in known history.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Laje-tal did several tasks for the Telvanni council Mouths, careful not to do anything that may attract more negative attention to herself than she already had. The spells and techniques she had learned as a result of being in the house had already been worth the risk, even if the work she was being asked to do was a little mundane. She slipped back into her old ways of doing her primary work during the day and using the evenings for her own personal study. Much to the continued confusion and consternation of the council mouths, she was not only adequate but effective and successful in the tasks they had her do.

At times she went out onto the far side of the island to do some enchanting to earn her living, and it was during those times that she noticed she was being watched. Not long after joining, the masters of the house had all sent out messengers or spies, following her as she went out every night. While she had kept a low profile, even her small successes seemed to warrant investigation. The nightly ritual continued without fail, but tonight she finally had a different follower. This one had a strong magical scent, very refined and practiced.

Aryon stalked his target cautiously, by now so fed up with his incompetent spies that he decided to see for himself what sort of Argonian – a woman, too! - would choose to be a Telvanni. The woman in question dressed like any other mage, in layered enchanted robes, and carried with her a well-kept silver longsword. Aside from being an Argonian, she looked deceptively ordinary.

Laje-tal didn't waste any time, drawing out two full grand soulgems from her pocket, a fine dagger and a book. A bit of magic made the book float in midair, pages turning on their own by her force of will. The dagger floated as well and the moment she took a soulgem in each hand, weaving an enchantment using both of them at the same time, he knew she had to be quite skilled. A double enchantment required a hefty amount of knowledge and at the rate she was going it was clear she knew quite well what she was doing. The binding was perfect, her incantation precise and firm, holding the weapon together as she sealed a powerful spell into the dagger.

Soon the enchanting ended, and though the dagger looked to be done without any sort of major flaw she still muttered something in the native Argonian tongue, snatching the book and pen and making some notes. Two enchantments were imbued but she still hadn't accomplished what she wanted to. Annoyed, she called out to her nearby stalker. “Well, don't just sulk there, Telvanni mage. Come here and tell me if my calculations are correct.”

In the bushes Aryon froze. He had been found out, and how dare she speak to him as if he were one of her peons to order about? Infuriated, he stepped out from his apparently poor choice of a hiding place, a deep frown on his face as he looked her over. Dark brown scales, unnerving slitted yellow eyes, bloody red markings under her eyes, everything about her just like the hellish Argonians he had heard Neloth talk about. He was brave, however, and approached her close enough to look at her notations. “Hmph, it does appear to be correct for a double enchantment,” he grumbled.

“True, it is, but I'm trying for something a bit beyond that.” She turned to a different page in her log of attempts and results, looking him over. He looked young even for a Dunmer, quite irritated yet clearly interested in what was going on. “You see, the enchantment is good, but it isn't permanent. You can enchant an amulet or a ring with a constant effect to it, but not a weapon. Can you imagine what one could do with a constant effect enchantment on a weapon?”

He took a second look at her notes, realizing she was indeed trying to formulate a way to attach a constant enchantment to a weapon, something that had only been dreamed about. Several of her attempts had seemed to come so close and despite his reservations he itched to read the whole log. No, he reminded himself, he couldn't get caught up in scholarship. She was a suspicious Argonian, an Argonian who for some insane reason had joined House Telvanni. His frown returned. “Is this all? This is what you waste your time on?”

By now Laje-tal had grown into a bolder woman, molded by her forced independence on Vvardenfell. “I spend my daylight hours performing far more pointless tasks for the council Mouths. Surely other enchanters in the house are allowed to pursue their own studies in their free time. Ah, wait, maybe you are referring to the things your spies have said about me?” She grinned, her sharp teeth and horns menacing in the dim light.

Aryon shuffled nervously. “My spies have told me all sorts of fanciful stories about what you've been doing here. Ritual sacrifices, blood magic, foul marsh summonings and the like.”

“Your spies are imbeciles,” she stated with a laugh. With a wave of her hand she cast a spell on the ground, an illusion depicting images of glowing summoning circles, spilled blood and skulls. She could have sworn he almost smiled. “Something like this? Oh, those poor spies, I was only playing around with them. I thought they may be getting rather bored with me enchanting weapons or making potions every night. I'll admit the marsh magic may not be accurate as I have never seen such a thing, but I do have a rather wild imagination. Really, they should have realized it was only an illusion.”

“That's true,” he reluctantly agreed. He was also unwittingly impressed. Her speech and mannerisms didn't hold any of the hissing slurs or peculiar gestures that most Argonians presented. Despite the potential danger she was in, she also didn't defer or back away from him. She wasn't the least bit like what his Mouth had described to him either. “I will have to consult with my spies and see to it they don't let such incompetence continue.” With that he left, and only when he was very well away did Laje-tal let out the laugh she was holding in.

* * *

At long last, Laje-tal had run out of things that the council Mouths needed to be done. She had also exhausted Skink's knowledge of the Sixth House and the Nerevarine, and her next mission to find out more was to take her to Vivec. Caius Cosades had been thrilled with the amount of information she had come up with and directed her to a Temple worker and a couple other informants in the great canton city to question. Before that, however, she wanted to find more on how she was going to progress within the house. The council may want to indulge her with silly tasks but she had bigger things in mind.

When a Telvanni gained enough experience, they could apply for one of the existing masters to take them on as their patron. She had the skill, and she had done plenty of work, but she also knew that a master could very well deny her their patronage. There was one angle she could try, and it all hinged on the coded message that she had been tasked to take to Divayth Fyr for Master Aryon, as well as the response back. It took some time, but she had managed to decode that message and came up with a rather devious plan.

On a fair clear day, Laje-tal left Sadrith Mora on the first boat out to the town of Vos. The city looked peculiar even from far off in the water and she enjoyed the view as the vessel drifted away. While the ride was long, the views along the way made the journey tolerable. As soon as they approached Vos, it at first appeared to be a rather ordinary town but the closer they came she noticed the town was a little off. Some of the buildings were aslant in their foundations, a couple surrounded by roots, and one looked abandoned entirely. The whole area seemed to have been affected by some sort of landslide or uprising, possibly from the penetrating roots. Despite the awkward layout of the town, its citizens traveled the meandering streets without complaint, avoiding displaced rocks and roots.

The boat docked at the pier and she departed as soon as the boatman was paid. Amid the confused buildings she managed to find a merchant selling general goods, supplies badly needed. After buying a few things and a bit of cajoling, the merchant gave her some information on the area and what had happened to it. During the construction of the great wizard tower nearby, something had gone terribly wrong. The roots of the Tel had overgrown suddenly and pierced both the Imperial fort it was built around and the ground under Vos. Aryon's arrival led to the town being very prosperous, so the mishap had been more or less forgiven.

Outside the actual tower, she could see exactly what he meant. The twisted roots curled around towers and turrets, heaving parts of the ground up and making a confused mess of everything else. Thankfully most Telvanni knew how to levitate, and she had learned that skill ages ago. Flying to the top of the tower was the best way to find any Telvanni master, most of them preferring the highest room in the tallest tower. His stronghold was hardly vulnerable; a guard stood watch outside on the outer growth of fungus that served as a sort of porch. The guard looked rather suspicious of her but let her proceed in, keeping a close eye on her as she walked past.

Inside, two main rooms took up the tower, formed in the hollow of the massive plant. Like many Telvanni homes it held well-made wooden furnishings, tapestries, rugs and of course several bookshelves. Much of the area looked about as expected, aside from small trinkets from travels. The occupant of the main room, however, did indeed surprise her. It was the Telvanni man from before, and he did not seem at all pleased to see her. Laje-tal never forgot her manners and presented him with a satchel filled with daedra skins and other alchemical ingredients. She wasn't so uncivilized as to appear empty handed. “Ah, it's you again. Good afternoon, you must be Master Aryon.”

Aryon's ashen face never seemed to lose that deep scowl. “What do you want, Argonian?”

“I heard from your Mouth that you required some of these ingredients and found it prudent to deliver them myself. There is a rumor that he is eager to return to his personal research and leave the council.”

His eyes narrowed but otherwise his gaze was unreadable, his internal thoughts warring with each other. “Is that so? I won't be having any of that. I already have far too many incompetent fools in my employ, his role in the council will not change until he can be properly replaced. I can see that you have been prying into matters that are not of your concern.”

The poor man sounded so petulant she had to grin. “Quite, and I know you are very desperate for help. After Divayth Fyr turned down your offer for him to join your cause, I'm sure you can use an extra set of eyes and ears.”

Aryon's face flushed with restrained frustration. She had decoded the message he sent to Fyr! That insufferable lizard cracked a code he thought impossible to break! “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Cautiously she approached him, setting the ingredients aside. “Hm, well I do believe I have completed far more than enough duties for your council to be considered for patronage in the house.”

He took in a sharp breath to start to declare that no, there was no way in all of Mundus or Oblivion that he would so such a thing, but reason won out over emotion. It was true that he was very desperate to secure help in the house to the point where he was seeking out even the more obscure Telvanni like Baladas. Fyr's rejection had been almost completely expected, yet he had tried. It sickened him but he knew he couldn't reject her. “Fine.”

Taken back somewhat by his sudden acceptance she watched his movements and face closely, trying to spot any sort of deception there. There wasn't any to be found and she didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. “You would be my patron, then?”

“Yes... yes, I will.” Defeated, Aryon sighed. Some of his old spirit returned when he faced her, pointing a finger almost right to her face. “I will consent to this but I will tolerate no more incompetence from my agents! You will do whatever I may ask of you and learn whatever I have you learn or I swear to Azura, I will send back to wherever you came from!” Suddenly he paused, watching her hands warily. “What in Oblivion is wrong with you?”

Laje-tal brought her hands up between them, seeing that like many times before, flames had started to come unbidden to her fingers. At times her magic welled so severely that it started to leak, and the tension between them didn't help. “Ah... pardon me.” She pushed down her power as much as she could, enough to reach into her pack to withdraw a potion without igniting anything. It was a very powerful poison - it needed to be to affect an Argonian - the mixture intended to drain magicka. Without hesitation she downed the whole thing, relief from the building magicka coming fast. Oh, but this wasn't the best impression to make on her new mentor.

Aryon stared at her, baffled. “Did you just drink poison?”

“Yes,” she replied, stashing away the rest of her displaced potions. “I'm the sort of mage who accumulates magicka regardless of how much I already have. It took some doing but Master Calcelmo and I managed to formulate a mixture strong enough to affect even one of my lineage. There are times when practicing magic to drain it off isn't possible. I have it well managed.”

She now seemed to have his interest, albeit masked. He hadn't yet met any mages of this sort but he had heard of them and many stories about them. Overfull mages were a terror on the battlefield and occasionally a menace to polite society if their powers got out of hand. This previous master she mentioned must have been one who knew what he was doing. “Calcelmo? Odd, that name sounds familiar. You know him?”

Remembering her kind old master she smiled fondly. “Ah yes, I studied under him for several years before he departed Morrowind. He was researching a Dwemer ruin near the town I was in at the time.” Now she smirked, unable to resist needling him. “Don't tell me you intend to have a civil conversation with me!”

Aryon was understandably irritated by that and came dangerously close. “Forget it, I don't care who you are or who you trained with, you will still be expected to follow orders to the letter and don't let that magic problem of yours become an issue. Do I make myself clear, Argonian?”

By now her patience was worn thin and something in his tone grated on her nerves. She had finally had enough of everyone treating her like an inferior creature. In a rare burst of rash judgment she grabbed the front of his robes, shoving him against the wall he stood near. “How silly of me, perhaps I need to introduce myself since you don't seem to think I don't have a name. I am Laje-tal, not some mere Argonian!”

He grabbed her scaled, alien hand and forced her away, eyes blazing with indignation. How dare she do something like that in his own home! “You will maintain your distance and complete your projects, then perhaps we will see if you can be more than a mere Argonian.”

* * *

Several days later, Laje-tal sat in the main library of Tel Vos, compiling her notes on the Nerevarine Prophecy and the Sixth House. Everything she had found so far was fascinating, especially the way that the Battle of Red Mountain had different versions to it. After a lot of convincing, she had earned the ability to come into this library and use its contents for research. While she was always watched over by at least one guard, it didn't bother her enough to comment on it. The primary guard, Drelan, most frequently shadowed her as she walked the rows of shelves. As soon as she sat down at a table with several books, he tended to relax more.

Laje-tal wrote down her observations in close, tidy letters as usual, keeping the most relevant notes and details nearby. She had at times been forced to write in quick, scrawled notations in her notepad if rushed for time and only at idle times like this did she sift through what was nonsense and what to keep. It seemed as though the Ashlanders were the primary believers in the Nerevarine, most especially the Urshilaku clan. An informant in Ald'ruhn had detailed a few of their traditions such as courtesy and the notion of presenting gifts, along with other miscellaneous information. She would have to visit with the Urshilaku directly to find out more, but at least she now understood their culture somewhat.

Not much was available on the Sixth House, most of the records about it having been destroyed after the great battle. People left over from the house were either dead or taken in elsewhere, their information suppressed. Four books had been recommended by Hasphat Antabolis and she now had them at her table, referring to them now and then. Eventually Aryon came by to search for books as well, scoffing down at her mess. “What is all of this? I thought I sent you off to speak to Baladas about joining the council.”

She blithely passed him a note without looking up from her writing, frowning over her field writings. “Already done. The man is quite affable if you start talking about the Dwemer.”

The books she had pulled caught his eye, all of them covering very specific subject material. None of it had anything to do with her studies as a Telvanni or as a mage. “You're... researching Nerevar and the war of the first council?”

“That's what I'm here in Vvardenfell for,” she replied. While the extent of her project wasn't to be told to every person on the street, she wasn't prohibited from talking about it entirely. “I'll be meeting with a clan of Ashlanders soon if you'd like to have a copy of whatever notes I may take there.”

His suspicion was palpable, piercing red eyes watching her closely as he removed a book from the shelf. “You came to Vvardenfell to study Nerevar,” he stated slowly, trying to wrap his mind around all the things she could potentially be up to. At last he decided that he really didn't care, taking the book back with him into the study, a heavy sigh in the air as he departed. Honestly, there were many eccentric Telvanni in the province, all studying whatever they wished. What did it matter, as long as she did the work he needed done?

After another hour had passed Laje-tal could hear Aryon in the other room, cursing at something over the sound of alchemical equipment. While she supposed he would prefer if she left well enough alone, she had developed a strong sense of responsibility when it came to potions. She went into the next room to find him fiddling with all manner of alchemical apparatus, measuring powders and liquids, adjusting temperature and moisture. Out of habit from aiding Calcelmo she approached quietly, peering at his notes and the book while he was occupied with his measuring. After a moment he threw a measuring spoon on the table, looking at her expectantly. He wouldn't admit it, but he did appreciate her silent patience. “What?”

“Do you need help with that?” She pointed to the alembic, which looked well and ready to boil over right onto the table.

“No, it's fine,” he insisted, emptying the overflowing alembic into a disposal pot. It wasn't fine. Laje-tal took his moment of distraction to observe his project closer, analyzing what he had been trying to do. The moment she started adding something to the already waiting mixture in the calcinator he looked back at her, irritated. “What do you think you're doing?”

Whatever she had added had the desired effect, turning the clear liquid green. It steamed a fragrant smell, bubbling in the heat. She hadn't even tried to use the alembic. “You're making a potion of chameleon, right? There's no need to separately boil the components or use the alembic, that will over-process the mixture. I know there are books that say to do so, but they refer to invisibility potions.”

As much as he hated to admit it, she appeared to be correct. He was also extremely relieved to know what it was that had been stumping him for the past hour. “Damn that Neloth, he's the one who told me to use this book for instruction. He's always trying to bait me with false information! I'll bet he knew it was wrong and was trying to torment me.”

“From what I've heard of the man you're quite right. I had assigned mages in Barenziah's caravan false potion recipes to test their knowledge but I doubt he had your best interests in mind.”

The potion was bottled quickly but he couldn't ignore her interesting comment. “You were with the queen's caravan?”

“For several years, yes. I scouted at the front for magical traps and other such things.”

He glared in disbelief. “You were at the front with her head guards?”

“It was sensible, given that I can smell magic. Even the best hidden runes still have a scent.”

Her story sounded absurd. “I have a hard time believing you.”

“I don't need your belief,” she said plainly. “You asked me a question and I answered it, believe what you will. Master Calcelmo said that the ability isn't common, I understand why you wouldn't believe it.”

With a huff he handed her the book he was using, pointedly trying to appear hesitant. “Look through here and see what else is wrong, I will not be making the same mistake twice.”

Laje-tal took it readily, grinning at him only when his back was turned. “Right away, sir.”

* * *

Some time passed since the incident with the potions and Laje-tal had just completed editing the instruction manual. She was also on the run from a few very angry Argonians. While in the wilderness she had run across an escaped slave and being that she was near Ebonheart at the time, it made sense to escort the Argonian slave to the Argonian Mission so that he could be helped. The former slave certainly didn't seem to care who she was or where she came from, glad just to be helped rather than recaptured, but the Argonians in the Mission had a very different opinion of her. She was a Telvanni, a hated one and a pest, barely addressed with more than a foul hiss. At the time she simply left the runaway slave there to get the best help possible, intending to just leave and be done with it. She hadn't expected the other Argonians to actually chase her out of town.

After going all this time in Tel Vos without destroying anything, she was now able to visit the library unsupervised. Winter had come to the province and a heavy snowstorm churned through the Grazelands region, effectively keeping her in the tower but surely discouraging any warmth-loving Argonians from pursuing her this far. She sat in the library near a magical fire in the fireplace, a real fire out of the question around so many flammable objects. A Dwemer puzzle box, borrowed back from Hasphat, turned around in her hands as she tried solving it, mind wandering over the things that had been happening. Briefly she wondered if her choices had been good ones.

Aryon came into the library after a while, looking through the books intently. He seemed uncertain on what he wanted to take out, which was quite rare. Laje-tal looked up at him, drawing a nearby blanket over her robes. “What are you looking for?” It was a simple question but being able to draw him into conversation without starting a fight was a start. He gave her a long, assessing look.

“Information on Argonians. I don't suppose you are much use in that regard.”

Brushing his remark off, she chuckled. “Not one bit. Everything I know beyond my own self came from Skink in Sadrith Mora. You'd better not ask him, though. Argonians aren't fond of the Telvanni.”

Puzzled, he frowned. “Does he know you're a Telvanni?”

Her smile faded instantly as she turned to gaze at nothing in the distance. “He does now.” She pushed off her melancholy and faced him with a small smile. “The Improved Emperor's Guide to Tamriel is an excellent resource if you can find a copy. I don't know if I would suggest Argonians Among Us but it does show how the Dunmer have reacted to them. The Argonian Account series is entertaining enough. That's about all I can offer you unless you want to learn our language.”

“How is it that you know the language without knowing other things?”

“From what I've found, we are born knowing it. It is just like how certain fish migrate from ocean to ocean without fail, nesting birds return to the same nest every year and certain dreugh will only lay their eggs in one specific place. I don't know how it works.”

“I see.” Scanning the shelf again, he found one of the books she suggested. “Ah, there it is.”

In a spontaneously bold move, Laje-tal moved aside on the couch, gesturing to the other end. “Why don't you come sit here, I wouldn't mind reading it as well.” When he looked at her dubiously she just gave him a toothy smirk. “I won't bite, I promise.”

He hesitated but sat gingerly on the couch at the far end, warily coming close enough for them to both be able to read the book. Everything about this felt abnormal but Aryon wasn't the kind of person to back down from a challenge. The tension as they sat there reading eventually lessened, allowing him to relax somewhat. Cautious, he decided to ask about her research. “Have you found out what you wanted to know about Nerevar?”

“To an extent. There is still quite a bit that's unclear, and information on the Sixth House has been nearly impossible to expand upon. It's very frustrating, even if you know the right people.”

“The Sixth House?” Startled, he backed away slightly. “What sort of research is this?”

Oh bother, she mused. In her distraction she had been careless and said too much. “In studying Nerevar it is necessary to study the other sorts of things around him,” she offered as an excuse. “He was close to Voryn Dagoth, the current source of the troubles coming from Red Mountain. Understanding the connections among all of these things is necessary, just as it is necessary to learn Ashlander custom. I will be meeting with some Ashlanders soon to consult with them more about this.”

“Indeed. Perhaps...” His eyes narrowed. “I have attempted to open trade with the Zainab tribe but none of my agents could find anything they would trade for.”

“I will do it,” she offered. That, however, reminded her of something she had been considering since she had read his coded messages to Fyr. “Your agents seem very suspicious.”

“Oh?” He had to admit, he was curious. For a long time something hadn't seemed quite right to him either. “Why would you say that?”

Laje-tal met his curious gaze. “Doesn't it seem wrong that not a single one of your spies or agents can find any information on anything for you? I saw them following me around when I was in Sadrith Mora and nobody of such incompetence could sneak and hide as well as they had. If I hadn't been able to smell the magical items on them, I doubt I would have noticed them at all. You said that Neloth often provides you false information, and the notes I have seen from your agents are badly written and disorganized. Even as a child I knew better than that. I wonder if someone is influencing them into not helping you, possibly even bribing them into providing information that's wrong, in order to keep things going badly in Tel Vos.”

Slowly he considered the information his agents had given him, the details vague and insufficient even when he had pressured those agents severely. They had given him enough to be somewhat satisfied but never enough to progress in the way he wanted. Now he, too, was suspicious. “Your observations are disconcerting and I can't deny that you have a point. There has been a long pattern of this for quite some time. I don't understand, though. Those agents were recommended by the Arch-Magister.”

She nodded. “Surely an Arch-Magister who wishes to keep his title and have no Magisters.”

Aryon regarded her intently, trying to read what was going on in her head. For many years he had been taught that Argonians were stupid, ignorant beasts who were good for little besides manual labor. Their magic was said to be crude and tribal, their achievements hinging largely on alliances they made with other races rather than what they did themselves. Laje-tal threw all of those preconceptions out the window. “That may well be. It's true that I was... encouraged not to apply for the title of Magister, instead taking the title of Master.”

“Hah, you just don't want to say that I'm right, do you?” she asked with a grin.

He scoffed. “You could still be wrong.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt it. Your Arch-Magister has recommended bad spies, you are intimidated into a position you can't advance from, your tower grows poorly, everything fits into place.”

“It does,” he conceded. “There's nothing I can do about it. I can't be a Magister and remove Gothren. I will have to be satisfied as I am with Tel Vos. My hands are tied.”

“Mine aren't.” When he glanced her way with interest she nodded, her sharp golden eyes calculating. “I have no prior affiliation in the house, no family to sway my choices, and should you choose to earn my loyalty, no amount of coin or persuasion could drive me away. I would serve you as faithfully as I served the queen herself. I know you want to enact change in the house and while I know you didn't appreciate me reading the notes you sent to Fyr, you are correct about one thing. Gothren is stifling growth of the house and his actions against you prove it. He is keeping Telvanni presence from expanding in Vvardenfell and that could affect the mainland.”

Aryon was baffled. Why would she care about the state of the house? Why support a place that had been so vindictive against her kind for generations? “I don't understand you at all. Why does any of this matter to you? What are your intentions in this house? Clearly they are not what I thought.”

“What indeed,” she mused. “I found your house interesting and I wanted to know more. A Telvanni friend of mine hasn't been very forthcoming in telling me much. I have also been watching Morrowind all of my life and I agree with you that this house will come to a great amount of trouble if the Empire starts to have too much of an interest in affairs here. They are already trying to meddle with your business by placing me here. I don't want to be involved in the Mages Guild and their heavy reliance on the Empire, so this was the most reasonable choice I could make to advance as a mage. I'm an Argonian and I can't change that, but one thing I can change is where I stand in this house. What we wish to do, however, will require our combined efforts if we want to succeed.”

Her logic was sensible but he was still confused. “Are you saying you're here for a title?” Despite his prior aversion to her he huffed a laugh at how insane this all was. “Is that all?”

“Your Mouth also seemed to think that letting me into the house would be very amusing. I intend to advance in the house as far as I can and show him just how much of a joke I am.”

“Hah, I do understand that much, he is the sort of person to do that.” Something she had said before caught his interest. “The Empire sent you here?”

Laje-tal sighed. “I am in exile.” She turned away, watching the fire blankly. “I was blamed for an accident in the caravan, an influential Dunmer woman poisoned the minds of others so badly against me that there would be no chance of me staying there. Barenziah couldn't have done anything else lest both our reputations be compromised. She told me she had a project the Emperor needed to be completed so I was sent here to do it.”

He watched her guarded gaze, curious about this mysterious project. “The project to... study Nerevar?”

“In part.” Her eyes met his, the firelight glinting in his intense stare. For once he looked open, genuinely wanting to know more. It was strange but she felt she could trust him. From her pocket she took out the decoded message that she had been tasked to give to Caius Cosades, a message she didn't know how to feel about. She was completely silent as he read over the message, absorbing the details of her very strange task, the tension building again. The blanket pulled close as she drew her knees to her chin, holding her legs close to rest her chin upon them, waiting for his response.

“The Emperor wants you to fulfill the Nerevarine Prophecy?”

Before he could sputter about how idiotic and insane this must all sound she offered a sly smile. “If you help me with my project, I will help you with yours.”

As absurd a prospect as it was he couldn't help but take the bait, too curious not to. “You have yourself a deal, then. Tell me everything.”


	5. Chapter 5

_"But when Trinimac and Auriel tried to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan it laughed at them. It said, "This Heart is the heart of the world, for one was made to satisfy the other." So Auriel fastened the thing to an arrow and let it fly long into the sea, where no aspect of the new world may ever find it."_ \- The Monomyth

* * *

In the dim, vandalized halls of Morvayn Manor in Ald'ruhn, Laje-tal found a strange red ash statue, much like others she had been finding in areas affected by the influence of Dagoth Ur. Ash creatures had broken into the house of Councilor Brara Morvayn and killed her husband, displacing furniture and making a mess of everything else. It had seemed sensible to clear out the ash creatures and restore some sort of order to the manor to earn favor with the Redoran, especially since she was given the task to convince the Redoran to oppose the monopoly that the Mages Guild had over the sale of goods and services. They weren't partial to the Telvanni and it would take a bit of extra work to convince them.

The ash statue smelled immensely of a very foul magic. For the past few nights she had had very strange, disturbing dreams, these statues echoing of the influence in those dreams. On the surface the two things didn't seem closely related but on further inspection it made some sense. Dreams and premonitions were largely disbelieved by most civilized Dunmer but the Ashlanders took such things and examined them closely for possible greater meaning, something she now considered. Calcelmo had taught her to think beyond preconceived notions, even if the information she found out seemed to contradict what was already known.

From what she knew, Dagoth Ur was responsible for the ash statues, the creatures barely contained by the Ghostfence, and possibly the influx of blight disease and the far worse corprus disease. He might be partially or wholly responsible for the dreams affecting herself and others, and was certainly the cause of some Vvardenfell residents starting to scream about the Sixth House and Dagoth Ur madly in the streets. The Ghostfence was maintained by the power of the Tribunal, something which seemed to be fading. They had lost the tools they used to extract power from the heart of Lorkhan, that power now all but spent maintaining the ghostfence. There were rumors that Almalexia was starting to become unstable, something that didn't seem implausible.

What of Dagoth Ur? Had he learned how to use the power of the heart? Such power would certainly explain how he had managed to cause such widespread terror. If he had indeed used the heart, he would likely have it near him. Without the tools to use the heart in the way it was intended he probably wouldn't have much connection to it if he was far away. That meant the heart was most likely there in the midst of Red Mountain, hidden deep within it.

Everything came back to the prophecies of the Nerevarine. Laje-tal put away her notes and took the ash statue, intent on giving it to the Morvayn family to have it nullified. She would be on her way to the Ashlanders at the Urshilaku camp as soon as she secured Redoran's support.

* * *

The main council of House Redoran lived within the giant carapace of an ancient crab, buried deep in the ground of Ald'ruhn. Some said the thing was still alive, waiting for the right moment to dig itself up and defend its territory. Most buildings in the area had high, rounded tops, the region frequently affected by ash storms and high winds. The ash wouldn't collect like it would have on the squared tops of the Hlaalu manors. Unlike other houses, where the councilors themselves lived in more outspread fashion, all of the councilors of the Redoran lived within the council house. Brara Morvayn now lived here too after being displaced from her home, something that could hopefully be rectified.

The many Redoran guards and house members readily watched her with a mixture of confusion and disdain as she walked past them. By now everyone had heard of the peculiar Argonian who was a Telvanni; word spread quickly in the great houses when it came to what the other houses were doing. She knew quite well how to deal with the Redoran, opposed though they were to her house, and offered a solemn nod and formal greeting to all she met. At the very least she intended to be known as polite.

The inner quarters of the council were brightly lit and smelled only faintly of the ash that was frequently tracked in by patrolling guards. Decorative plants and tapestries softened the dull sandy walls, accented by small colored candles on the ledges. Laje-tal found the door she was looking for and entered into the common area of Councilor Morvayn's quarters. Nearby a guard watched over the quarters with a sharp eye, as mindful of her every move as the councilor herself. The Dunmer woman looked on with a cautious, irritated gaze, clearly having been in the middle of cleaning up her plate from a meal. She straightened, brushing aside her silver-streaked hair and fixing her fine clothes with a gentle tug. “What is the meaning of this, Argonian? I don't recall having scheduled a meeting with a... Telvanni.”

Laje-tal nodded with respect, offering up the ash statue without preamble. “Pardon the intrusion, Councilor, but I believed you would want to know immediately what has been plaguing your manor. This ash statue seems to be linked to the magic of Dagoth Ur, which would explain why creatures from beyond the Ghostfence would appear only in your home. I'm not sure who would put such a thing in someone's house, but I do believe that if it's purified of its influence, you shouldn't have any more trouble with the creatures. The others have been eliminated.”

Brara Morvayn took the statue with care and a touch of revulsion, lips pinched at the thought of the horrors she had seen ransacking her beautiful home. “Hm, yes, I recall the Sarethis having found something odd like this as well. Others have been showing up in odd places all across Vvardenfell lately, all followed by sickness in the home, bad dreams, or worse.” She faced her visitor with an increased respect, heart lightened by this tragedy finally coming to a sort of end. “Thank you. You may be a Telvanni but you have done me a great service by clearing those creatures from my home. I suspect this is not all you came here for, however.”

Now Laje-tal smiled, enjoying how the woman saw through her strategy easily. Clearly Brara wasn't a councilor simply by default. “It's not, though I'm glad to have set things right. If you're too busy I can deliver the statue to the Temple for you, as well as any requests you may have for the interment of your late husband if you wish. I came to discuss the matter of the monopoly that the Mages Guild has over the sale of service and goods within the province. Outside of their strongholds, the Telvanni have been unable to sell anything without being sanctioned by the Mages Guild.”

“Oh? You wish us to speak against the guild to allow your ambitious Telvanni mages to become even more so?” She scoffed but smiled slightly. “I see. Why would we do something like that?”

From the back of her memory, she recalled Barenziah explaining something the Redoran referred to as an appeal to fairness. The Redoran held strong and true to their moral code, and honor and fairness were at the very top of that moral code. “I believe an appeal to fairness is in order. The Redoran are not barred from selling weapons, training or armor simply because the Fighters Guild does, or because blacksmiths and weapon smiths do. The Hlaalu are able to set a shop directly next to a Redoran or Mages Guild shop and not a person questions such a thing. Only the Telvanni are not permitted to sell anything outside of their holdings, which skews the control over assets.”

As hoped, Brara nodded with understanding, mulling over the thought in her head. “It would seem so. Very well. I, for one, would support this motion when it comes to a vote. You'll need to convince at least two others to get this motion to pass, and it may take some effort. Miner Arobar especially has had trouble with the Telvanni already, and I doubt he would listen to you.”

“I've heard about that,” she assured. “I'll see what I can do, thank you.”

Later, however, Miner Arobar indeed wasn't impressed with her or her mention of an appeal to fairness. He had no intention of dealing with a Telvanni, and she knew why. In Sadrith Mora, Neloth was keeping the man's daughter hostage for reasons she wasn't sure of. To his surprise, she offered to free his daughter from Neloth as soon as she could, something that wasn't actually against the rules of the Telvanni. Their rules were such that she could take anything away, provided she was never caught in the act. She didn't particularly appreciate Neloth so she agreed to his terms to receive his vote.

Persuading Bolyn Venim was out of the question, but the other councilors went along with her proposal after some prodding. Athyn Sarethi was quite glad to have the ash statue gone from his home along with the Morvayn statue, and she made quick work of dispatching the things to the nearby Temple. While she wanted nothing to do with them, the Temple priests had their uses. With many things now set to rights within Ald'ruhn, she finally set about what she hoped was the last leg of the week's journeys before she could finally get back to her research.

* * *

Several wide circular tents grouped in a circle at the Urshilaku camp, nestled deep in the midst of the ashlands. People milled about the camp taking care of their farms and craft work, gathering herbs and scraping hides. Men were dressing down a wild kagouti they had hunted, women hovering near with baskets to take hide, meat and harvested organs from the creature. Bones were carved into tools and decorations, gut turned into string and ties, none of the usable parts wasted. Laje-tal approached the camp, a few gifts in her pack for the Ashlanders, but paused when she felt all eyes on her.

It was understandable that the Ashlanders had never seen one such as her in their camp. Some may have never even seen an Argonian before, as rare as it was for an Ashlander to go anywhere near a town. She wasn't overly bothered by this, having grown accustomed to this sort of attention, and went forth into the camp. Thankfully the Urshilaku were a peaceful sort of tribe and wouldn't attack her on sight, but she was careful not to make any sudden moves. A few gifts delivered here and there made her intentions clear, the people readily directing her on who to speak to. The gulakhan Zabamund was easy enough to please with the large amount of information she was able to share about her research into the Sixth House and the Nerevarine, though the ashkhan insisted that she retrieve a bow for him as a sign of her support.

Away to the south lay the burial cavern where the bow now rested, no doubt filled with undead creatures. The prospect of seeing an Ashlander burial cavern was exciting, her deep interest in their ways almost as strong as her longtime interest in the Dwemer. She traded a few goods as well as stories with the residents, soon heading on her way to the cavern. Laje-tal didn't make it to the cavern on that day. Halfway through the wilderness she paused, sensing that she was surrounded. Several figures circled her, all Argonians with hatred in their chilling slitted eyes.

* * *

Aryon sat at his large desk in Tel Vos, looking over the latest reports with a grateful sigh. All of Laje-tal's reports were neat, accurate and orderly, complete with the occasional technical illustration. Everything had been finished on time even considering the many complications her pursuit of the Nerevarine Prophecy came with. That research was something he found perversely interesting, superstition aside, but the idea that she might actually become the Nerevarine was disturbing and a little preposterous. For years the idea of the Nerevarine had been actively suppressed by the Temple, believers persecuted and sometimes imprisoned. He wasn't sure what he believed in but he did want to see how this would all play out. It seemed so strange that the Imperials would send her to Vvardenfell on what seemed to be a whim to fulfill a prophecy, but those people did seem to hold prophecy in higher regard than most Dunmer.

His primary guard, Drelan, came into the main room on his rounds. All was secure and even the books in the library were orderly. There wasn't the least sign of any work in progress despite all that had been happening. Blankets were folded and tucked away, furniture dusted, and even the fireplace had been cleaned. What startled him more was knowing that Master Aryon was in the other room but that room was completely silent. Concerned, Drelan entered the large study, seeing his master hard at work reading through reports. When Aryon looked at him expectantly he nodded a hasty greeting. “Pardon the intrusion, sir, just doing the rounds. You were rather quiet and everything was cleaned so I thought you may have been called away from here without my knowing.”

Aryon nodded, understanding his concern. He was occasionally called away to the mainland or other areas with little notice. “No, but thank you.” Puzzled, he paused. “Everything was cleaned? I don't recall doing that.”

“Must have been the Argonian,” he reasoned. “She did mention that she cleans when she's stressed.”

“Hmph. I suppose I can't complain.” He handed Drelan the report he was currently reading over. “If she keeps handing in reports like this she can clean whatever she wants.”

Drelan removed his Telvanni cephalopod helm briefly to look it over. “It's sure detailed,” he observed, handing it back. “Better than Ulenhyn's pedantic nonsense on that Dwemer centurion, for sure.”

“Gods, don't remind me.” Just then there was a burst of magical light in the hall, sounding like a spell of Recall. There was only one person who would set a mark in his tower. “Hm, speaking of the woman, sounds like she's here. Would you see if she needs anything? I'd like to finish reading this.”

“Right away sir.” Drelan returned his helm to his head and entered the short hall. He didn't get very far before he gasped at the sight that awaited. “By Azura! What happened to you? Master Aryon, come quickly! She's badly wounded!”

Wounded? It was rare for her to arrive with even bandaged injuries, much less arrive in his very tower in a severely hurt state. He rushed to his feet, grabbing a few restoration potions. The sight that met him was bloody and gruesome. Laje-tal seemed to have been all but ripped apart by dozens of claws or small blades, bleeding all over the polished floor. “What in Oblivion happened to you? You look like you were torn to bits by winged twilights!” He handed her a strong health potion, hands glowing white-gold with restoration magic as he moved to heal the worst of the cuts.

Laje-tal, exhausted and pained, barely managed a grumbled response. “Argonians... too many.”

“What? Why?” She didn't respond, the pain too great. “Blast it all. Drelan, could you grab one of the old towels, a bucket of clean water, maybe some wrappings? I'll do what I can to stifle the bleeding.” His guard departed at once, returning quickly with the items. Aryon led her to an open bright corner to better inspect the extent of the damage, pushing at the potion in her hands. “Come on now, drink this down.”

In two large gulps the potion was consumed. A few major gashes closed shut, more healing over as Aryon kept up his magic. She finally managed the strength to give more information, though she clutched her right arm to herself tightly. The arm had been broken in at least three places. “There were about ten of them, they attacked me in the ashlands. I used up so much magic warding them off I had only enough left to recall here, otherwise I wouldn't have come and bloodied up your floor.”

“Never mind my floor,” he stated firmly. “We'd better get you down to the healer at the chapel, you're still too scratched for me to heal all of it.”

“I'm not going to that chapel, even if that priest is a restoration master. I'll be fine.”

“You're not fine! You may be an Argonian but you can still get infected blood, and I know you can't set those broken bones with one good arm. If you don't want to go to someone with the Temple we can find someone else.”

“Gods, Aryon! No,” she insisted, her eyes still wild with fear. She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “I don't want anyone else involved. Please.” Struggling to her feet she took the old towel from him, wiping away the seeping blood from her face. Aryon tried to approach but she was overcome by the adrenaline and fear of the attack, hissing at him, tail lashing wildly. Just barely she retained enough dignity to retreat into the spare guest room she most often used.

Drelan was just as startled as the other man by her behavior. “What in blazes... I don't recall her ever being so... ah...” He was going to say beastly but he held his tongue.

“Well, I need her alive.” Aryon took the bandages and the bucket of water, determined to see this through. “I'll blast down that door if I have to. Go ahead back to your rounds, I'm sure I can handle this.” He strode down the hall quickly to the spare room. Laje-tal had locked it but he scoffed and used an alteration spell to unlock it. She sat upon one of the wooden chairs to the side, facing away from him. It almost seemed like she was sulking.

“Don't you have any respect for a lady's privacy?” she groused.

Suddenly he realized that she had removed her upper clothing to tend the scrapes there, towel held just enough over her front to preserve her modesty. That wasn't his primary concern and he approached her with a frown. “Not when you all but bleed out in my tower. Let me look over those injuries. You're drained enough that I can force you to stay still if I must.”

Laje-tal only huffed a laugh at his manner, leaning forward to expose the gashes on her back. “Fine.”

He set about cleaning up the fresh cuts, healing a few magically. As the blood came off bit by bit he noticed multiple old scars grooved into her skin. At first he suspected that she had been attacked like this before but the shape and depth wasn't consistent with the scratches he now tended. Most went in a particular pattern from her shoulders down her back. “Gods above, woman, what happened to you? Are you always getting into fights with other Argonians?”

“I have fought only one Argonian prior to this.”

“Well you still seem to have had a dangerous lifestyle. Where did all these other scars come from, then?”

Laje-tal unexpectedly laughed, startling him. “Do you really never walk by a plantation, or look upon the people tending Therana's egg mine? What kind of Telvanni are you to have never seen this?”

His eyes traced over the deep, hard scars. One mark had left the imprint of what appeared to be a large chain, another filled with spiked holes. While he understood her implication, this had been far more severe than anything he ever witnessed. “I have never seen anything like this,” he replied honestly. “You were a slave?”

“I spent years there,” she muttered, hunching over slightly. Now it was clear why she hadn't wanted to be treated by a healer. “Shackled away from the sun in that blasted glass mine in Tear.”

For a long time he was silent, cleaning the ash dust from her scrapes. She didn't withdraw in pain from the ministrations, not even when he set the breaks in her arm and splinted it. All of his life had been spent far away from the ugly realities of their world, high and away in his little room in Blacklight. Not once had he fought in a real battle, and never had he been in a position to see more than the handful of household slaves in Blacklight. When he told her just that she nodded, understanding his position.

“Unless you go to the mines or the plantations you don't see the worst of it. I swore to Barenziah that I would never tell anyone. Master Calcelmo did what he could to mend the worst of my scars but they just run too deep. I'm sorry you had to see this.”

“Don't be silly,” he chided quietly, finishing the last tie in the wrapping. “I suspect it was only a matter of time before I did. I just... had no idea it could get like this. I had two slaves in the past in Blacklight but they were never treated like this.”

“Hah, you should have seen Dro'jelan. He was very old and you couldn't tell where one scar began and another ended. He had so many that most of his fur was gone there. I was taken in at the age of eight and minded what I did, so I didn't receive the worst of it.”

“I see.” Aryon paused there for a moment as she looked away, drawn by one mark that looked like an old burn. His hand traced the edge just enough to feel that there was an indentation. Laje-tal jerked reflexively away, nearly displacing her chair.

“Don't.” He took a breath to apologize but she waved him off. “Forget it.”

“Do you know who attacked you, or why?” he asked, hoping to restore the conversation to something a bit less uncomfortable.

She sighed and drew out a clean mage robe from her drawer, looking at the ruined tatters of her old one. Damn, but that had been her favorite set. “No idea. I guided an escaped slave to the Argonian Mission in Ebonheart. They weren't very fond of me.”

His brow raised curiously. “You aided an escaped slave?”

The look she shot him was calm but calculating. “Of course I did. I may be here as a Telvanni but I won't ignore someone who needs help. Still, all those Argonians saw that I was a Telvanni. I suppose that was enough to send that group to attack me. Never mind that.” From her scraped but whole pack she withdrew a brief list, handing it to him. “Here's what the Zainab clan would be willing to trade for. It's nothing special, mostly potions to cure disease and restore health, but it will get things started.” Gods but he looked like he was never going to turn around to let her get changed! “Do you mind?” she asked, holding up her fresh clothing pointedly.

“Oh, right.” At long last he turned around, reading over the list with a thoughtful hum. Yes, he could indeed produce these potions with ease and in the quantity needed. It was certainly nothing special, but it was better than the list of nothing he had received so far. “How did you manage it? Not one of my agents was able to get a thing out of them!”

She scoffed. “I asked the women. Zainab men are far too proud to admit they need anything, but their women take care of them and know what they can use. Also, House Redoran will support our stance against the Mages Guild monopoly over goods and services. They can be swayed through an appeal to fairness, provided that the situation is indeed unfair.”

“Bah, appealing to the Redoran when they are attacking one of our own. Faves Andas is under attack in his stronghold as we speak by Redoran soldiers! He's been under siege before, I'm sure he'll manage for a while, but he could use some help. There's no way I can send you out there when you're being mobbed by Argonians in the wilderness.”

“Relax,” she said with a tired sigh, rubbing a sore spot on her battered shoulder. “I'll see if I can lean on the Redoran a little and get them to lay off of him. It will be fine.”

“Fine!” Aryon grumbled and paced slightly before facing her with a frustrated frown. “Fine, you say! How can you call this fine? We just got this place in the perfect position to take the next step and now I can't even send you out on a mission lest your hide get turned into someone's rug! Blast it.” He ignored her stare as he began pacing again. “I really should have hired more guards last time. It would be so much easier if only we had a little more support, I might be able to send a guard along with you.”

“I have a friend I can ask, I'm sure he can help us.”

“What, another Argonian?” he asked with a touch of acid, arms crossed over his chest.

Laje-tal's patience was wearing thin, thankful as she was for his help. “I don't know any other damned Argonians! I have barely met any others! By Azura, every Argonian I have ever known has been a slave or an enemy! My friend is a Dunmer and a Telvanni, just as you are! We have fought together and I'm certain he can help us out if I ask him. I'm going to do it whether you want me to or not,” she stated, her own frown dark and cross.

Despite his previous anger he was intrigued by this odd Telvanni he apparently didn't know. How was it that she could have befriended a Telvanni, apparently before she even joined the house? “Another Telvanni? How did you manage that?”

“We were enslaved together in the same glass mine, he was there for committing a crime of some sort. We helped each other escape and he found me employment with Imperials as a maid. I owe him a great deal. We may not have escaped if we hadn't worked together.” She had his attention, watching her with a closed look, and she removed the leather bracers from her arms, exposing her wrists. There, he could see where her scales had been worn and scarred by thick irons. She took the bucket of water from him and washed up the last of the blood from her hands. “He may get into a bit of trouble now and then but I know he will get serious if someone needs help. We made a promise to help each other if we needed it, and I know he is trying to get in better standing within the house. I trust that you will not turn him in, either, for being an escaped slave.”

Aryon caught her implication and actually gave her a small smile. “And who is to say that I wouldn't turn you both in?”

She shot him a toothy grin, eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “You won't.”

With a huff he gathered the bucket and what was left of the bandages, glancing her way with a smirk on his way out. “No. I won't.”

* * *

On a fair day in Tel Vos, Laje-tal went about cleaning Aryon's library. The act of returning a room to its tidy state was undeniably satisfying, and in her recovering state she was limited on what she could do. Nobody minded much when she did this, though at times she often cleaned away books that Aryon had arranged in an organized mess. Her plain shirt was rolled high up to her elbows on her uninjured arm to keep it clean, though she still wore cloth bracers to hide the scarring on her wrists. She scrubbed the floor with a stiff brush, the ever pervasive ash of the province constantly casting a gray film over the surface. It was during this task that she heard the unexpected click of talons against the floor. Looking up from her scrubbing she saw an Argonian man clad in several pieces of fine glass armor.

The man took one look at her kneeling, sopping wet, dirty form and grinned. “Greetings, housemaid, do you know where the master may be?”

She didn't bother to correct his assumption and went back to her business of removing the dirt from the hard floor. “Master Aryon will be in shortly. He went to retrieve something from the dock master.”

“Is that so?” The other Argonian approached her with a curious glance in his eyes, looking her over with a peculiar attention to detail. “With no guards here? They left you here alone?”

“I can manage,” she grumbled, already irritated. “If it bothers you that much, you can stand guard at the entrance until Aryon comes by. I assume he hired you for that purpose.”

“Indeed, he did. Worry not, I will guard you dutifully until the master returns.” With an exaggerated courtly bow he finally left to guard the outer door, leaving her to sigh with relief. She honestly didn't care what he did as long as he left her alone! The floor wouldn't clean itself!

Around the time that the floor was nearly clean, Aryon came into his tower, the other Argonian tagging along after him. She tossed the brush into the water bucket, the cleaning having done little to lift her annoyance. Really, he could have picked a better time to bring an Argonian here after all the trouble she had. Still, it might not be so bad, she told herself. This place really did need more guards. Aryon came in just as she stood to put away her cleaning implements, a puzzled look on his face. He still wasn't sure what to make of this odd hobby. “Well, it sounds like you already met my new guard here.”

Laje-tal huffed and set her tools aside in an alcove. “For the museum in the central tower, right?”

“Yes, the steam centurion is still a bit unreliable, though it has been attacking far less often.” He nodded and motioned the Argonian man to come forward, hoping to any god that might help him that these two could possibly get along. The museum had experienced far too many problems as it was. “This man has an Imperial background much like you do, he has fought several campaigns with the Legion and several more with the Fighters Guild.”

She did indeed find that interesting. If he had a history with both the Legion and the guild, he was most likely well trained and disciplined. Maybe. Cautiously she looked over the well-armed man with an appraising eye. “I see. Very well, if you stay out of my business, I'll stay out of yours.”

To her amusement the man turned to Aryon, curious and confused. “If you're going to address me to all of your servants, there won't be much time today to go over the guard roster, not that I mind the sight of a comely maid.”

Aryon was quick to correct the assumption. “She is my student, and I expect you will treat her with the respect that title comes with. While she does seem to have the compulsion to clean at times, I assure you she is a highly accomplished mage and historian.”

The man did at least have the manners to apologize. “Forgive me, then. If you'll excuse me, I will head to the central tower and familiarize myself with the layout of this place.”

As soon as he left, the tension lifted slightly. Laje-tal was still nervous, her tail twitching and her hands clenched into fists, though she otherwise appeared calm. Aryon faced her with an unusual uncertainty, watching her with concern. “He did come very highly recommended, and not by Gothren. I know the last thing you want to be around right now is another Argonian, after what happened to you, but I intend to keep him away in that tower until all has settled.”

“Good,” she agreed quietly. “It's fine. I've already seen your museum, I don't have any cause to go there either. I'll stay out of his way.”

“You don't have to just stay out of his way. Maybe talk to him sometime, you might have some interesting stories to share, I'll bet. I think he would like to hear a few things about your time in the caravan. It might be good to be around someone you can relate to.”

Her stare was long, hard and silent, the utter stillness of her gaze and body renewing the tension without mercy. She furrowed her brows and moved on past him into the main study, intent on returning to the book she had left there. What did he mean by that? Someone she could relate to? Could she even begin to relate to another Argonian, even if he had also been raised outside of the marsh? She had willingly chosen the life of a Telvanni mage, and that man had been hired into the career of a Telvanni museum guard. Still, it couldn't hurt to at least talk to him a little bit. She had no qualms talking to the people of Tel Vos or any of the guards. If he could be civil, so could she.

After a few days, however, the Argonian who called himself Smokeskin-killer began behaving oddly. It wasn't anything threatening or overtly bothersome but she didn't know what to think. She might be standing in the library looking over a book and he would come up beside her, starting a conversation about something or other he had done in the Legion or a guild. His stories were interesting enough and he seemed to find hers equally worthy of talking about, but his tail would sometimes go wandering until it made contact with her own. She had indeed seen other Argonians do something similar, their tails meeting in a familiar way, but she wasn't sure what exactly it meant. After a few occurrences she brought it up to Aryon, though he hadn't known what to make of it either.

At a loss, Aryon decided to ask the man himself. He couldn't have someone making his rather volatile student even more so. Laje-tal was currently enduring yet another of Smokeskin's tales of bravery and bloodshed, though she was obviously trying to focus on a potion she was trying to concoct. Her magicka reduction potions required a great deal of ingredient processing and attention to detail to make, never mind that she only had one good arm to work with. Then, as he watched, there it was. That tail went wandering during the part of the tale that apparently required a lot of gesturing. Aryon quickly intervened, motioning him away to the other side of the room.

The Argonian man looked very disappointed, grumbling over the interruption. “Ah, to be taken away at the best part. Well, what is it? A thief loose in the hold?” he asked with an eager grin.

“Not quite. I don't think you have noticed, but Laje-tal is in the middle of a very complicated potion. Alchemy can be quite dangerous and I don't suggest distracting her from her work.”

He grinned and leaned with a hand on his sword, clearly appreciating the view even from the back of the room. “Hm, yes, but how can I resist? A fair maiden with a shapely tail I can regale all of my tales upon, aloft in a tower of a powerful wizard.” Shaking his head, he laughed and faced Aryon. “Sounds like a fanciful yet over-told story, does it not? No need to worry, I will be careful. I have learned she is rather jumpy about my tail.”

Aryon took the opening into the topic without hesitation. “Yes, I have noticed. Why do you do that, anyway? You must keep in mind that she was raised without knowledge of other Argonians, and I don't think she understands the meaning behind such an odd gesture.”

“Yes,” he said with a hum and hiss, an odd rumble issuing from his throat. “It is something that close friends or family members may do, especially those who hatched from the same shell, and it is something often done between mates.”

“You'd better look in another direction,” Aryon advised sternly. “To become a Telvanni Master requires a great deal of time and effort, and she would not give up on that easily. Talk if you wish, but don't interfere in her studies if she doesn't want you to.” With a nod of dismissal he made haste to the array of alchemical equipment, noticing that Laje-tal could use help completing her potions as she contended with her immobilized broken arm. He quickly gathered up several empty bottles and funnels, holding them steady as she lifted the calcinator to pour it evenly.

Smokeskin had nearly left but suddenly noticed something odd about their work, a silent effort between them as they each seemed to understand what needed to be done. Even when the next batch was started, they divided the work without a word, sorting the preparation on whatever implements they were closest to. All the while, Laje-tal's tail grazed the edge of Aryon's robes, not enough to be noticed by Aryon but enough to suggest a familiarity between them. His eyes narrowed with interest as he returned to his post.

* * *

Dusk fell on the horizon at Tel Vos, painting the Grazelands a vibrant orange. Boats came and went from the dock to the distant sea, and eventually all came in for the night. Laje-tal had waited for this moment and looked up at the sky expectantly. Any moment now the first of the stars would be visible. She had finally recovered from her injuries enough to return to the long line of tasks she had to do, but she wanted to make some progress on the star chart they had started.

Rolling out the large paper and weighing it down with small stones, she quickly changed tasks to preparing the nearby telescope. The device was of Dwemer make and had seen quite a few different owners from how battered it was. When she found out Aryon had this poor old thing in storage she had nearly begged him to let her use it. Despite its outer condition, the inner workings were still in prime condition. Carefully she calibrated the dials one by one until the settings were right. At last a small twinkle appeared in the sky, glowing faintly as she rushed back into the confines of the tower to find Aryon. She knew exactly where he would be, stuck in the library with his nose in a book just as he had been for the past three days. As expected, he was very much in the middle of doing just that, stuck in the middle of a very lengthy book about Imperial culture. She didn't feel guilty tearing him away from that.

For a moment she waited, smiling at his intense, concentrated gaze as he scanned over the lines of words. She reached out to hold the outer edge of the book, peering over his shoulder to see what he found so interesting, their equal height making it easy. In the beginning she never would have considered doing this, but they had grown accustomed enough to each of their own odd habits over the past months that she didn't think twice about it now. She chuckled at what he was currently reading. “Oh that part is all wrong. Honestly, who wrote this thing?”

Aryon didn't turn to look at her, only shaking his head at the passage she pointed to. “Some idiot who thinks he knows everything. I'm considering writing a much more accurate rendition.”

“It can wait, I'm sure. I set up your telescope outside, you'd best get out there if you want to view the first stars.”

Now he did turn to face her, trying his best to appear irritated. “I'm rather busy here, you know.”

“Busy reading the words of an idiot, as you said. You know quite well that if you want information on the Imperial culture, you already have a person with notable knowledge on such a thing at your disposal.” He didn't fight her as she took the book from his hands, placing it back in its spot. “I can tell you anything you want to know about them.”

He managed a small, amused grin. “You were supposed to be my authority on Argonians at first but I suppose I will have to make do with what you have. Alright, you have my attention, let's take a look at those stars before the moons get too bright to see them properly.”

Outside on the broad ledge that grew from the base of the tall tower's exit, Aryon's telescope sat in all of its tarnished glory. He extinguished the nearby lanterns to better see the darkening sky. Laje-tal stood by the large scroll they had been working on, glancing over their record of the constellations and their movements through the sky. Star charts were hardly uncommon, but few had such intricate detail as this one. “I'd better make a copy of this for my friend once we're finished. Apparently even Cyrodiil's Synod doesn't have a chart as thorough as this. Too complex, apparently.”

He scoffed. “For apprentices at the university, maybe.” Leaning over with care not to upset the telescope's adjustment, he peered into the scope. “Hm, another red star. Large, but not particularly bright. Could be fading, perhaps. Some stars do eventually disappear.”

Laje-tal sat on the chair at the nearby table, making notations as best as she could. At least her writing hand had been spared being broken, though her right arm was still very sore from the healing breaks. “I wonder what it would be like to see a star up close. Are the fading ones dying, or are they simply drifting farther away?”

He scoffed. “I asked Arch-Magister Gothren about that once. He told me to stop wasting time on frivolous pursuits.”

“Hah, well we can show him how frivolous it is when we sell this chart to the Synod. Never mind him, he spends all of his time reading the day away, not even going outside now and then. Miserable, isn't it?”

Aryon glanced her way, faking suspicion. “Ah, I thought you had some ulterior motive in taking me out here. You're trying to make me less of a dried up husk than Gothren.”

“You found out my heinous scheme, it seems.” Though she continued writing as neatly as possible, she couldn't help being a little distracted by the thought of the Arch-Magister. “He'd better not get too comfortable on that cushioned throne of his, lest someone bloody it up.”

He peered at her sideways from his leaning position, giving her a calculating look. Inwardly he was rather pleased at her ambitiousness. “Are you considering deposing him? If you work your way up to the title of Magister, you have the right to try, of course.”

“I'll admit it crossed my mind. It's too bad none of the current Masters are able to try.”

“None of them want to bother anyway.” He sighed a tired sigh, one filled with the old hopelessness that had plagued him through the years. A cool breeze wafted up from the docks, the feel of it somewhat relaxing. Dim distant lights lit up the few people still milling about in the nearby town. Despite everything, all of the agitation of the past several days slowly drifted away into a faint feeling. He stepped away from the telescope to allow her a turn, leaning onto the railing to stare without focus into the distance. “I think it's about time you made your own stronghold,” he suggested quietly.

Laje-tal had gone to look through the scope but looked up from it at his statement. “A stronghold?”

“Yes, you've earned it, to be sure. You've managed to get quite a bit done these past several weeks even with that broken arm of yours, I believe you could now be a Master within your own right. A Magister would certainly need a very respectable stronghold.”

As she stared at his relaxed form, the breeze ruffling his long robes, the gravity of his suggestion came clear. She would be able to have a place of her own, built under her ownership here in Vvardenfell. Her eyes drifted up to the stars, looking at them absently without aid of the scope. “I would have a home.”

Aryon was very still, contemplating what she had said. She had never had a home before, always living within another person's home or wandering the wilderness in a camp. Her personal possessions were sparse, always few enough to take with her at a moment's notice, back on the wandering path again. A small, genuine smile grazed his lips when she joined him at the balcony, the charts forgotten. “That's true. Still...” Uncertainty reasserted itself, causing him to look away. “If you'd like to visit here again, you're quite welcome to it.”

Laje-tal stared at him until he met her gaze again. She felt a sense of absence when he brought up the idea of her leaving, a feeling she hadn't expected. “I would be glad to visit whenever possible,” she reassured him, not even sure why she felt the need to do so. “Even if I have to put up with more of Smokeskin's idiotic stories.”

He chuckled and agreed. “They are a little exaggerated, I'll give you that. Don't mind him. From what I've heard, it's only a bit of harmless flirting. I told him to leave you be unless you came to him.”

Looking away, she scoffed. “Harmless flirting indeed.” She seemed contemplative but her sudden stillness as she looked into the sky seemed unusual. Her tail hung limply behind her, a sign that she was brooding about something she didn't want to. Aryon didn't know what to make of it and stood there by her side, waiting. After a moment she spoke, quiet and distant. “When I was at the mines, there was an Argonian man who tried to take liberties with me several times. I always managed to fend him off, and the final time he tried, I blasted him with a shock spell and stabbed him through the heart with a sharp spear of raw glass. He was the first person I had ever killed.”

He was left speechless by her shocking confession, one that made him search her unreadable gaze for any signs, her golden slitted eyes no longer looking foreign and unapproachable. Their proximity was uncomfortably close in the weight of their discussion, yet he couldn't tear himself away from whatever force that now kept him here. Now he realized what he had unintentionally done by bringing the other Argonian here. It was rare that he was sorry for something he had done, but now he did indeed feel very sorry for it. “I apologize for bringing Smokeskin here, I didn't know what it would mean to you. I knew you hadn't known other Argonians much and I thought it would be good for you to know at least one who wasn't trying to kill you.”

Faint sounds of wild silt-striders humming filled the air, cliff racers darting into the bay to fetch fish from the surface. She knew he hadn't meant anything offensive by bringing the man here, she knew him too well to assume something that silly. “I know,” she said with a smile. “It's alright. I'm no small child anymore and I can fend for myself. I'm not afraid of him.”

He was relieved. “You shouldn't have to be. I'll be more cautious in the future.”

“There's no need,” she reassured him. “I didn't recall to your tower simply because I happened to set a mark here.” Her nod was firm and certain, her stance solid and relaxed. “I came because I trust you.”

Earning her trust hadn't been something he realized he had wanted, yet her trust in him wore its way into the emotions he had so long ago buried, stirring up a compassion he had once been incapable of. It mattered that they could rely on each other, that something would hold constant in the midst of so much change. He found that he could return that trust, that he had already been doing so in leaving a piece of the future in her hands. It was frightening and empowering all at once. They leaned on the railing together, close enough to nearly be touching, watching as clouds meandered across the sky.

Gods, but it seemed like they would never get that blasted chart done.


	6. Chapter 6

The shadow of a nearby trama shrub barely concealed the two who crouched beneath it. Laje-tal silently gestured ahead to the group of bandits camped around the shell of a long-dead silt strider. There had been far too many bandit raids in the area recently, endangering the people of Vos. Right now the guards were already too occupied with maintaining order in the town and the tower, unable to venture much farther to the outlying camps. The camp the two now circled was remote, and had been a safe place for the bandits to regroup. They intended to leave a very firm warning for any others who might return.

Aryon stayed perfectly still, trying to blend into the surroundings, his drab brown and dark gray clothing matching the ashy wastes. Laje-tal clung to the trama shrub, her dark brown tail curled around like just another tendril of the plant, watching and waiting. Slowly one of the bandits separated from the others, the rough-looking man grousing about a foul joke one of the others laughed at. This was what they had been waiting for. A few of the other bandits split to take their shifts, a crucial moment when they were off guard. Laje-tal drew her sword slowly from its sheath, not making a sound.

Patient and cautious, they waited for the moment to strike. One bandit came just a bit too near, and with that she struck from behind, her sword hitting at an upward angle into the gap between his armor, straight up into the vital organs. A few nearby bandits were alerted, their bows and swords drawn, shields ready. Aryon struck the two nearest bandits with a blast of lightning, stunning them while Laje-tal pressed in to finish them with her sword. One tried to shoot at her with a bow but instead of dodging to one side, she rolled even closer nearly to the baffled man's feet, forcing herself up from the otherwise disadvantageous position with added effort from her tail, sword slashing up to strike him flat.

Spells and swords clashed back and forth, the scene getting more gruesome as the battle waged on. When at last the final bandit was dispatched, all ten lay dead in the camp. Laje-tal, gasping, sat hard on a nearby crate, inspecting the scrapes she had earned. Thankfully she hadn't broken anything again. Aryon had made it out of the fight only slightly better, having kept his distance from the main battle, and did what he could to heal her. As his magicka radiated, he made his concern plain. “You'd best learn some restoration magic yourself,” he advised.

“I can't.” With a groan she stretched her aching tail, shaking her head. “I've tried, mind you, I tried for many years. Master Calcelmo declared me a hopeless case, I left an Imperial woman in the caravan incapable of magic for a whole month, and that priest in Vos won't speak to me anymore. Unless you want to risk your body exploding, I'd not trust myself with more than the most superficial wounds.”

Unconvinced, he leveled a look at her. “Come now, you've been a mage for all your life, as you have said. Restoration magic shouldn't be all that difficult.”

“I'm quite serious,” she insisted, gesturing to the laceration on the leg of a nearby corpse. “I'll show you.” She stretched her hands, still stiff from wrenching her sword against the bandits. Aryon had managed to close her own scrapes enough to not be bleeding everywhere, but he couldn't fix the soreness. A harsh golden glow of restoration magic came to her hands, and she laid them on the deep gash on the fallen bandit. For all it seemed, she had done everything correct in her focus, control and method, but as the cut seemed like it was going to mend, it suddenly burst apart, tearing even deeper straight to the bone. She flinched as burst blood vessels made the scene even messier, sighing in resignation. “My magic is just not suited for this kind of thing.”

At the gruesome sight, Aryon couldn't help but concede. “By the Gods... Laje-tal, you are by far the worst restoration mage I have ever seen. I do believe you have discovered a whole new method of warfare.” He chuckled. “You can just heal them to death.”

“Very funny.” A bucket of water awaited close to the campfire, and she took a moment to wash the grime from her hands. “Ah, I have tried and tried, but I'm better left at tearing things apart than mending them back together.”

Exhausted and disheveled, Aryon sat close to her on a nearby barrel. He did indeed believe that she had been just as dutiful in her studies of restoration as everything else, but her overwhelming magic undoubtedly complicated matters. It was the same reason she was having trouble mastering the highest level of destruction and conjuration magic. She was talented and skilled, but her practical application of her knowledge was confounded by unpredictability. “What of that Imperial mage you mentioned? How did you make it so she was incapable of magic?”

“Oh, Gods,” she muttered with a resigned frown. “That was a terrible day. She was trying to help me learn by linking magic with me, but I don't think she understood what I meant when I told her about my magicka. She was so very used to linking magic instantly with any mage she wanted, she just shoved her way past my mental barriers, and... well, you can imagine what happened.”

He grimaced. “Blasted fool. I suppose she never met a mage like that before, though, as rare as they are.” A long silence passed as they recovered their energy, using the camp's fire to warm their hands and drinks. Aryon took a long sip of warm mulled wine, going over the battle mentally. “Hm, what was that technique you used against the archer, where you rolled into the attack?”

“I learned it from a rather short Bosmer man, very fine battlemage. He had a terrible time creating distance, with most of his enemies being much longer in the leg, so he learned how to close in fast with a dagger or shortsword if he was cornered. I had already taught him quite a bit of alchemy, so he showed me a few close range attacks. I had to adapt it to my height, naturally, but it has gotten me out of a few tough scrapes. I can show it to you sometime if you'd like.”

As he watched her unwavering gaze, he considered the offer. Though his heart would always be in the arcane world, he knew it was sensible to learn other methods. “Drelan has tried to get me to practice swordplay with him, but I had such trouble finding the time. Maybe now that things have settled, I can make a bit of time for it. I wouldn't mind seeing that technique sometime. For now, you'd best focus on setting plans for your stronghold.”

She hesitated. “Ah, I have been meaning to bring that up to you.” A lingering pause filled the space between them, tense and uncomfortable. “It's best if that waits a while longer. I have misled many of the Telvanni into thinking I am merely your personal hireling, and have hidden the greater part of my skills from them. Neloth does not know that I am as much of an enchanter as he is, and believes I have come to you for remedial instruction on it. Thanks to a few well-placed rumors, Gothren thinks I am just an exotic maid. It wouldn't do well to have the stronghold built under those pretenses.”

Aryon regarded her with furrowed brows and a thoughtful frown, wondering what else she had been up to that he didn't know about. “That may be for the best,” he agreed. “Gothren has a particular hatred for Argonians and would never allow for one to approach any significant rank. It's good that only my word is necessary for you to be allowed into the higher ranks, but he would find a way to remove the option from you if he found out. We may still be able to build the stronghold, provided we lie about who is to occupy it. Either way, I will play along with this game of yours. You'd best tell me what else you've spread around about yourself, however, so I know who I should tell what information to. If I back up your claims, it will be all to the better.”

Grateful for his understanding, she smiled. “I wasn't sure if you would do such a thing for me.”

“We have agreed to work together. I intend to honor my side of the agreement just as you have with yours. You will still have to find yourself a Mouth to work with you in the council, though that person would have to be just as meddling as you are.”

She shot him a wide, confident grin. “I know just the man.”

 

* * *

 

Across the table in the Tel Vos study, Eddie looked like he was about ready to panic. “By Azura, Laje-tal, you're as mad as Sheogorath!”

It had been far too long since she had seen him. They had kept up their habit of frequently writing to each other but it was good to be able to invite him here. The proposition for him to be her Mouth on the council had simply reignited his insistence that she had completely lost her mind. He was still barely over the fact that she had even joined the house in the first place. “Perhaps, but this is the perfect opportunity for you to move forward within the house. You did want to do that, you know.”

He only sighed. “I can't believe this is happening.”

Just then Aryon came into the study, returning from delivering supplies to the town. He spotted the new face in his tower and looked between the two curiously. “I believe I know you. Eddie, right?”

“Right,” Eddie agreed, standing to offer a proper greeting. “I hope you don't mind it, but I was invited to come take a look at a few projects I've heard you're working on.”

“Ah! You must be the mysterious Telvanni friend I've been hearing so much about. There's no need for subterfuge, I know why you are really here. Do keep in mind, however, that second chances are rare in this house. I'm sure you know to keep your hands to yourself.”

Reminded of his criminal past, Eddie coughed. “I know better than that.”

In a very unexpected intrusion, the tower guard hastened into the room, appearing very troubled. “Pardon my interruption, but Master Neloth has come to Tel Vos and is demanding an audience. He is insisting on being admitted in here immediately.”

Neloth was here? The man hardly even left his tower much, and certainly only traveled if it was necessary. What could he want? Aryon frowned but nodded approval. “Better let him in, then. If he bothered to come all this way he must have a reason. I will meet with him alone.”

“Ah, actually, sir, he also insisted on having Laje-tal present.”

His glance drifted to his student warily, noting that she looked very satisfied with herself. Gods, what did she do this time? “Alright. Eddie, I'm sure you can find something to do here while we take care of house matters. We'd better see what Neloth thinks our friend here has done.”

Eddie left the room with a groan, heading out of the tower. “Probably take less time to ask what she hasn't done.”

That, in the end, had seemed to be the case. Neloth blazed into the tower and surged his way directly to her, his brows arched sharper than even Aryon had ever seen. “I don't know how you managed to do it, but you have ruined everything! You may have gotten past the guards and my traps, but I'm certain it was you!”

Laje-tal managed not to grin at his frustration, affecting nonchalance. “Whatever are you talking about? Oh, is this about Arobar's daughter? I heard she went missing from your stronghold a few days ago. If you think I had any involvement, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was in the Ashlands at that time doing some rather important research.” She gestured to a few volumes of books, papers and documents behind her. “As you can see, I was far too busy to be interfering with your prisoners.”

“Interfering!” He nearly growled with malcontent, his face reddened to his bald scalp. “This goes far beyond interfering! I have tolerated your presence in this house for far too long as it is. Aryon, I insist you dismiss this poor excuse of a retainer before she does any more harm!”

Aryon, far calmer than usual, faced the man with a firm stance. “I will not dismiss her on something you accuse her of doing without any evidence. What proof do you have of her doing so?”

Startled by Aryon's cool demeanor, Neloth paused. He was so accustomed to the young man getting angry at any accusation thrown at him that he needed a moment to form a response. “I'm certain it was her! Dozens of rogue Dwemer spiders were let loose in my hold and while they went about scaring my guards, my prisoner went missing. I don't know how or why the spiders managed not to harm anyone, but it must have been her! She was a thorn in my side every moment she was in Sadrith Mora!”

Suddenly the things she had been doing for the past week prior to heading into the ashlands made sense. All of the broken spiders and tampering with soulgems had been for more than just simple experimentation. “Is that all? It sounds like you are still operating on mere suspicion. I can attest that Laje-tal has been recovering from serious injury here in Tel Vos for several weeks until the past few days of study in the ashlands. How could she have had time for any of that if she was here?”

Neloth glared at her menacingly, still not entirely convinced. “Hm, perhaps.” He directed his words at her with a pointed finger in her direction. It was hard not to compare his behavior to how Aryon used to be. “I suppose you wouldn't have the enchanting knowledge to have manipulated the spiders in such a way. Yes, I have indeed heard you are a fair hand at alchemy but my spies have been far too good to miss out on the things you have done in Sadrith Mora. I know about how you were summoning daedra and sacrificing them to some sort of god! You might not be behind the disappearance of my prisoner but you may have done something contributing towards it!”

Unperturbed, Laje-tal played on his perceptions. “It certainly would have been very difficult to enchant Dwemer spiders into doing what you say happened. I can't imagine how one would even begin to do such a thing.”

“Bah! Useless Argonians.” With a huff he drew magic to his hand. “Useless! To think I came all the way out here for nothing. Enchanting Dwemer mechanisms is simple enough for even the smallest Telvanni child! Forget it, I'm not wasting any more of my valuable time!” In a blast of light he recalled away, Laje-tal chuckling in his wake. When Aryon looked at her with an accusatory frown she only chuckled harder.

“Hah, enchanting those spiders was indeed child's play! Oh, you should have seen the look on his face when the little things scrambled all over the walls! Women screaming, even a few men screaming!” His look darkened and she shook her head. “Don't worry, I programmed the things to only wander around for a while before leaving. Nobody was harmed, except for their pride.”

Then, oddly enough, Aryon laughed. It wasn't the sort of hopeless laugh she was used to but a genuinely relieved, maybe even joyful sort of laugh. She had never heard anything like it from him before. “You... you sent all of those blasted spiders I saw you working on into his tower as a distraction, and then managed to rescue Narise Arobar? Divines and Daedra, Laje-tal, I truly don't know whether to think you are insane.”

Smiling, she shrugged. “That's Eddie's opinion, anyway.”

“Why did you do it?”

She gestured behind her to a stack of books she had brought in that very day. “Getting along with House Redoran is very beneficial. Councilor Arobar sent on a few of these books to help in my research. I promised him I would free his daughter so he would support our stance on the Mages Guild monopoly on goods but it seems he was so glad to have her back he wanted to add on a few things I needed.”

Aryon looked over the books in question, noticing they were all rather uncommon volumes he didn't have in his own library. He inspected a few of the books closely. “An excellent selection,” he admitted. “I wouldn't mind reading a few of these myself.” He turned back to her, frowning slightly yet again. “Any particular reason you enjoy befriending the Redoran?”

“Why not? They are organized, fair and hold on to their duty to a fault. The Hlaalu have trusted the Empire too much. While the Empire would normally try to keep relations with Morrowind stable, if something happens within the Empire they will defend their own first. The Empire is the string that holds them together, and removed, the weaving comes apart. It is said that the Nerevarine will drive all of the foreigners from Vvardenfell. I have no intention of chasing anyone away, but you know as well as I do how chaotic the state of the Empire has been since the very beginning. The Telvanni are too widespread and poorly organized to hold everything together should the worst happen. It's important to have as many allies as possible, despite our house's belief to the contrary. That is why I hope to increase Redoran's favor with us.”

Intrigued, he sat at the chair across from her at the table, leaning forward with interest. “Oh? You think that something may happen?”

“I'm not sure,” she said quietly, glancing aside. “I've been having many strange dreams since I started looking into the Nerevarine prophecies, and I feel like they're trying to tell me something. I'm sure it all connects back to Dagoth Ur, but I can't help feeling nervous about other things besides that. The Emperor is getting quite old and it's only a matter of time before he passes. I have heard that it is still undecided which of his sons will take the throne after him, and there could be war between them. If they are killed as well, it would be hard to find a new Emperor. If a war expands, they may pull support from Morrowind, and what then? I have watched the Imperials for quite some time, and I know they would pull from the provinces if the threat is great enough. I don't know. Maybe I'm simply being paranoid.”

“Paranoid or not, it is a valid point. To say that Cyrodiil has a habit of being in upheaval is a gross understatement. The Telvanni and Redoran both have made a point to not rely too heavily on the Empire for that reason, among others. There is no chance, however, of actually rallying the other Telvanni if something should happen. Dratha and her warriors might manage a fair defense, maybe Baladas and Fyr, but Gothren, Neloth and Therana are useless in their inaction.” Aryon smiled with a hint of good humor. “I'm not going to keep you from making necessary alliances, just don't let it keep you from your primary goals. I do still need your aid in swaying this house on the right path.”

Laje-tal stilled, growing quiet. She seemed pensive, maybe even worried. “The further I get into this Nerevarine prophecy, the more dangerous it has been. Every day the threat of the blight and the ash creatures worsens and the Ghostfence is barely held in place. Can I really say that I will be here to do that?”

He looked down for a moment, conflicted and reticent, knowing she had a point. Many others had attempted to meet the prophecies, and they were dead. “Laje-tal,” he said, drawing her attention with the use of her name. “I know you can't promise such a thing, and neither can I. Either of us could be killed at any time for any reason, and promising to always be here would be an impossible task to fulfill.” Sitting down nearby, he put a firm hand on her shoulder, not releasing her even when she flinched. Instead he looked at her until she met his eyes, his ashen face creased with worry. “I will teach you as much as I can. Whether that turns out for good or ill, so be it, but it's all that can be done. All we can do is keep down our own paths and hope we make the right decisions when the time comes.”

Despite her troubled thoughts she managed a small smile. Aryon always seemed to know what to say, even if the facts were harsh. He didn't try to cover up genuine concerns with pointless pity. “It's true, that's all we can do. I don't know what I will do when the time comes, but I will try to have a better understanding of what I am deciding. At least then I will be able to make an informed choice.”

“An informed choice is better than a knowingly ignorant one,” he agreed. “It's those ignorant choices that put this house in the position it's in. Now, I suspect your friend might be wondering what has happened to us. Why don't we go talk this over with him and see what he thinks of it?”

At a loss for anything else they could do, she followed him to the central tower to do just that. Despite what her friend had to add and his retelling of one of Smokeskin's crazy stories, the trepidation she felt didn't cease. She was on the precipice of something she couldn't back away from, something that would change everything. That night she tossed and turned, stomach churning with nervousness until she managed to finally rest. Much of the night was spent in the midst of a terrifying dream of that man in the golden mask, leading her soul among empty shells, their hollow, missing eyes following her progression, rotten mouths open in an unheard scream.

 

* * *

 

Laje-tal walked through the pathways in Vos, arms laden with deliveries. Eddie followed behind with even more, the burden slowly disappearing as she made her rounds through the local homes and shops. Enchanted weapons and armor went to the blacksmith, clothes to the tailor, potions to the priest. At each place she exchanged pleasantries, though she tactfully let him handle business with the priest. The man still wasn't the least bit pleased with her, though he accepted the potions readily enough. Then, finally, nearly everything was gone, all except for two more potions.

“And these are for the dock master. By Azura, it's a relief to have that all done. Thank you for helping me, Eddie, I'd have had to make two trips without you.”

“No trouble at all,” he said, a spring in his step and a cheerful smile on his face. Oddly cheerful.

“What's gotten into you? Something you're looking forward to?”

“I'm excited to be back in the house again! I missed the intrigue, the industry, the drama! I could tell you stories that would make your hair stand on end! I mean, your scales shiver! I know just about every sordid tale the house has to tell!”

She stopped right where she was, only a few yards away from where the dock master awaited the delivery. “Let me guess, your removal from the house wasn't entirely due to theft?”

“Not entirely,” he replied with a devious smile. “I told the story about how one of the nobles used a lich to... well, you don't want to know. It was messy. In short, it... what was that?”

Her neck stretched as she peered over his head, straining to listen to whatever it was he heard over the noise of the docks. Damn, but elves had such sharp ears. “What did you hear?”

“Something that sounds important. We'd better go see what's going on.” Eddie led the way, crouching every so often behind barrels or crates. When she asked why he was skulking about like someone who wasn't supposed to be here, he only hushed her and hid behind yet another crate, whispering. “They're talking about Helseth. They wouldn't freely talk about him if someone was watching them. You know as well as I do the kind of things he has done!”

Oh, she knew that, alright. Helseth was well known for his unsavory tactics in trying to take the throne of Wayrest after King Eadwyre's death. It seemed it was no coincidence that both King Llethan and his heir, Talen Vandas, died shortly after Helseth's arrival back in Mournhold either. “And let's not forget his sister and what she did to become queen of Firsthold!”

Then, finally, she heard the conversation. Two Dunmer women, from the sound of it, and they both sounded very worried. “A whole goblin army, he said! Goblins, in Mournhold! I wouldn't have believed it myself but I know that guard, he would never make up such a story!”

“What would he need a goblin army for?”

“Haven't you heard? Even Almalexia is at odds with him. She's grown so distant from even her own priests, shutting herself away for days upon days with only her personal guards seeing her. I've even heard that the Dark Brotherhood has been sighted in Mournhold!”

“You've got to be kidding. In Mournhold? They have some nerve, slipping in under the Morag Tong.”

“I can't believe Almalexia wouldn't know about this or worse, allow it. She's become so erratic anymore, it's frightening.”

The conversation slowly deviated away from the initial topics, losing the interest of their two watchers. Eddie and Laje-tal moved away just as stealthily as they had come, pausing to discuss what they overheard in the back of a small warehouse. Understandably, Eddie looked troubled. “It sounds like things in Mournhold have gone even further down since you came here. What is Helseth up to?”

She sighed. “It sounds like he's trying to sneak in as many things as possible under the Tribunal's nose. That, and Almalexia is even worse. I'll bet anything that her power is waning more, and she's in a panic. She has always been very serious about her role as one of Morrowind's three living gods. Helseth is likely using this distraction for all it's worth. Oh, I bet Barenziah is so worried.”

“If all of this is true, yes.”

“Oh, it's true. I'm sure of it.” Laje-tal shuddered, remembering Almalexia's stony gaze. “There is something terrible in Almalexia, I know it. When she looked at me, I felt my very core screaming at me, telling me the horrid things she has done.”

Although she had told him about the strange meeting before, he still didn't know what to think about it. Did she really have some sort of connection to someone's old memories, or had she been thrown into a hallucination by the scope of Almalexia's magic? If Laje-tal took in too much latent magicka, she would start to do some very odd things. “Do you need to come burn off some magicka?”

The slight scowl on her face perfectly matched her tone. “I'm not getting addled, I barely have any magic left after Aryon's lessons this morning. I have to do something!”

“Gods, Laje-tal, do what? What are you going to do from all the way out here in Vvardenfell? You're still in exile, you know. You don't even know if you'll be let back into so much as the Deshaan province, let alone Mournhold, even if you finish that project of yours.”

Eyes narrowed with the despair of helplessness, she sighed. “You're right. It's all I have, though. If I ever want to leave...” she paused. Her gaze slowly drifted to the docks, the sands, the town and tower. She thought about the people here she had come to know so well. She thought about Aryon, and found herself smiling. “No, I wouldn't leave everyone behind. Well, this project is important to the Queen. Maybe what I do here will be enough. Still, I can't help but want to go out there and see for myself.”

“You're impossible!” Eddie smiled, though, chuckling. “Ah but you wouldn't be you otherwise. Fulfilling the Nerevarine Prophecies is going to be dangerous, you know. On top of that, you're still very much needed in the house, and you know damn well Aryon will remind you of that.”

“I know. I don't intend to let him down.” Despite the danger, she felt strangely assured. It was illogical, but there was no fear when she considered going on with her quest. “I'm going to keep on with it, though. Prophecy aside, all of this has been very intriguing.”

At a loss, he only frowned. As much as he cared for her as a friend, he couldn't keep her from doing what she felt was right. “Don't get yourself killed. We haven't even thought out that plan to get your stronghold built without anyone knowing about you. Blast it all, come on, let's get back to the tower and see what we can think of. You're still crazy, but I suppose you can still be sane enough to contribute to this mess you've gotten yourself into.” Laje-tal smiled at his back as he passed, ever grateful for the ongoing support of her closest friend. He couldn't understand some of the things she felt or did, but he was there. Her heart felt all the lighter as they returned to the Tel, making a mental list of ideas.

 

* * *

 

Aryon scowled at the Dwemer centurion in his museum, fussing over the connecting wires and gears yet again. The damned thing still had incidents of suddenly moving about, though at least now it didn't go around attacking people at random. Smokeskin stood nearby, ready to intervene if the construct went wild. He cursed, struggling to reach one of the inner connections without having to remove the front plate. “Bah, where's that woman when I need her?” Laje-tal had left over a week ago with little mention of where she was going, but he had a hunch. She still had to complete tasks for the Urshilaku now that she wasn't broken and bleeding.

The construct whirred back to life, stoic and still. It still turned its head this way and that to acknowledge everyone present, but it didn't move. Yet. Nearby Smokeskin let out a relieved sigh. “By the Hist, that thing was starting to get unnerving. When I found it in the privy, one must wonder!”

“At least it didn't wander onto the roof this time. I think I finally have it. Damn it all, I could really use a second opinion, though. I wish Laje-tal had left word on when she would be back.”

“Wasn't she going out to the other end of the island? It could be quite some time. Oh but she will love the story about the centurion! I can sense a title even now, the tale of the centurion's unbearable call of nature!”

Aryon groaned. “You're as bad as she is with your jokes.”

Moments later, almost as if the thought summoned her, Laje-tal entered the area looking exhausted and worn. She seemed nervous, her tail nearly tucked to her legs, arms close to her sides. When she saw them both working on the centurion, however, she managed a slight smile. “Is that thing wandering again? I thought we fixed that.”

“I thought so too, but who can tell anymore with these Dwemer things. Would you believe that Smokeskin found it in the privy this time?”

She chuckled. “I suppose even a Dwemer construct needs to leak at times!”

“Terrible, you are both terrible.” In spite of his frustration, he offered her a welcoming smile. Between the two of them, surely they could get things up and running again. When her smile faded, however, he grew more concerned. He suspected something had happened in her investigation of the Nerevarine prophecies, something they couldn't discuss here. “You look like you ran three times around the edge of the island! Why don't you go get some rest? I think I can manage the centurion, it seems stable for now.”

Laje-tal took the hint, excusing herself to his library. She was genuinely tired and felt she very well might rest until he came up to find her. The wait wasn't long, and she barely made it through a few pages of a book before Aryon came into the room. She stayed seated on the couch, her muscles aching too much to stand on ceremony. “You'll have to talk to me here, I don't think I can budge even an inch like this.”

He muttered a slight huff before seating himself nearby, looking her over. Exhaustion aside, there was something else that seemed off. “You returned to the Urshilaku, then? What did they say?”

From her pack she removed a small sheaf of notes and handed them over. “This might explain things better than I can right now. It seems that I am not the Nerevarine, but I could become that. If I meet the right conditions, it seems I truly could fulfill this prophecy. By Azura, that wise woman of theirs is a real trove of information! You wouldn't believe how much of their history she has memorized! They write nothing down!”

Aryon took the notes eagerly, scanning the contents for a moment. “Fascinating!” All of the information she had recorded took up several pages, all detailing information on the Nerevarine and the prophecies thought lost. Beside him, however, he couldn't help but notice her downcast eyes, her clasped hands. He leaned closer, trying to read her closed expression. “What's wrong?”

Her gaze thoughtful and cautious, she related what was troubling her. “I had a dream last night, different from all of the others. It started out in a similar way, where I saw a man in a golden mask. I knew him, I thought, and in the dream I said his name. I called him Voryn Dagoth, and asked him to remove his mask so we could greet each other as friends. Everything around the dream shifted into a swirl of colors, and suddenly I saw him about to slay a Dwemer man, a flood of lava all around us. Just like that, I woke up. It felt so very real, I could feel the heat of the lava, a different hand holding my raised sword, the weight of heavy armor. I was there just as I am here now.”

Perplexed, he frowned, trying to make sense of what was going on. The Nerevarine Prophecy had been around for such a long time that many stopped believing it to be true. All that existed now for the greater populace was the blight, corprus disease, a slowly failing Tribunal and equally failing hope. The line between what was true and false was impossible to draw. Even with it all laid out in front of him like this, he had no idea what to believe. All he learned until now may be proven to have been lies. Without thinking he laid a hand on her shoulder, though now she didn't shy away from his touch. “Do you really think you could be the Nerevarine?”

“Even Caius is starting to believe I could do this. He may have been guiding my steps in the process, but he too didn't know whether to believe it. This all sounded so stupid at first, I figured I would just find out some information the Imperials wanted and that would be the end of it. Between these dreams, and that time I met Almalexia, I feel like there is more to this prophecy than old Ashlander stories.”

“You didn't tell me the part about Almalexia.”

“I wasn't sure if it meant all that much until recently. When I met her, I felt like I already knew her, and had for a very long time. I had only just met her, of course, but there was a part of myself that seemed to reach out and force me to look at her, to acknowledge what she had done. Now I wonder if maybe I am being guided by something, or perhaps someone. As chancy as the Daedra are, Azura has always been known to help those who follow her. If a Nerevarine is necessary, I don't doubt she would make it happen. Whether I'm needed, who can say? Am I Nerevar Incarnate or am I just someone who will pave the way for one who is?”

Torn between offering some sort of reassurance or getting up to pace nervously, he was frozen in place by uncertainty. He had no answers, no advice. All he could do was question. “What is next on this path?”

She chuckled at his straightforward manner. “Next is to investigate a disturbance in Gnaar Mok. Caius received word that a Sixth House base may be there and I need to take care of it. The tentative plan I worked out with Eddie is to enchant my clothing with a chamelon spell, and hide away from as many ash spawn as possible. Felen Maryon in Tel Branora is quite the conjurer. He taught me how to summon winged twilights, so having strong souls for the soul gems won't be an issue.”

Aryon relaxed slightly, using humor to dissolve the tension. “Oh, so now you're getting other Telvanni to teach you?”

“I never agreed to anything exclusive,” she replied with a grin. “Baladas and I often trade research notes on the Dwemer, too. Try not to get too jealous.”

He feigned dismay but just as quickly returned her grin. “I'm glad you're finding other resources, honestly. Soon, you're not going to need my help anymore, and you'll have to find your own way. Once you have a good cover for building your stronghold, and you get everything settled, you will be on your way to taking Gothren down if that's your goal. I will be glad to consider you one of the council even if you choose not to remove him.”

“I still intend to,” she stated. “I think I also have a plan for the stronghold. I'm quite good with illusions, as you know, and I was considering disguising myself at times while I am here, making myself look like a Dunmer woman. You could claim my other self is the new wizard in the house, and she is the one building the stronghold. I would choose a Dunmer name that still has my same initials, so that when I sign papers, I can initial them as I normally would. When I go to challenge Gothren, I will do so as my real self and reveal the truth. It will be too late to stop me then.”

“Not bad, actually. Yes... yes, I can see that working. We could invite a few crucial people to come by to meet the fake wizard and count on them to spread the word. Put in a few appearances, make a show of constructing the stronghold, and everyone might well forget my ah... how did you put it, my exotic maid?” He laughed. “Oh it's good, it just might work. Do you have an illusion already planned? I better be certain you look the part.”

“I suppose I could be bothered to show you,” she said with feigned aggravation. Slowly she rose from the couch, mustering up the energy. “Eddie and I worked on this one for a good hour or two, I'd better be acceptable!” With a blast of light and warping air, her form slowly shifted to that of a shorter Dunmer woman, skin a medium gray and bold, dark red hair. Her illusory hair was pulled back into a rough bun, common for mages who had little patience for intricate hairstyles. The face she chose fit well, with arched brows and a determined look. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at him haughtily. “Well, what do you want, outlander? You're wasting my very valuable time and I have had enough of your insolence!”

At her very perfect impression of a frustrated Telvanni, he couldn't help but laugh even harder. “A bit too much Neloth, don't you think?”

“Ah, yes, maybe a bit. How about this?” She changed her posture, drawing herself up tall and proud. “I'll have you know I am the daughter of a very influential man, and I will not have one such as you infecting the air around me with your incompetence!”

“Oh now you sound just like those wretched women from the cantons, it's perfect! Yes, I think this is just right!” He rose from his seat as well, taking a look at her form from every angle, inspecting the quality of the illusion. “Excellent casting, I wouldn't know this to be an illusion if you hadn't told me.” When he came back to look at her face, now seeming so very far down with the reduced height, he frowned. The casting had been perfect, but it still felt so very wrong to see her that way. She just didn't look right as a Dunmer. “Don't get too carried away with this,” he advised. “Don't forget your real self and who you are. You are the one I want to see succeed, not this... whoever this is.”

“Lenassa Tenavvi.”

“Bah, you've even already named it. It's a good enough name, I suppose. It fits.” Even still he couldn't help but be bothered by her new look, her red eyes, pointed ears, and ash gray skin. “Ugh, would you put that illusion away? I hate it.”

She dismissed the form with another shimmer of magic, going back to her natural form. Worried, she considered what she could have done. “What's wrong? Did something look amiss? Did I forget to add something?”

“No, it... it's too perfect, I suppose. You looked... I don't know, not like you!”

“That's the point, of course.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” With a sigh he looked at her again, relieved to see her scales and horns in the glow of the fire. “It works, anyway. Nobody would think it was you, if you look and act like that. You might even be able to use that disguise if you need to get yourself out of a bad situation, perhaps escaping the Temple once you are known to be chasing the Nerevarine prophecies.”

She scoffed. “I could also use it to avoid Argonians! Nobody can stare at my tail if I don't have one!”

Perplexed, he wondered at the question that had been plaguing him for some time. Why was it that everywhere she went, every Argonian around would stare at her tail? It didn't seem all that interesting to him. “I really don't understand why they do in the first place. They have tails too, what does it matter?”

“Ah, well, you know how people are. If someone has an obvious burn on their face, or they're missing a limb or otherwise lop-sided, they will stare. I can't help that my pattern is wrong, that's what happens when you take too much Hist sap when you're growing up.”

He sat back down abruptly. Gods, but it felt like a headache was about to form. “What in all of Tamriel are you talking about?”

“Argonians need Hist sap at least twice in their lives, once when they hatch and again when they are on the verge of becoming a man or woman. Master Calcelmo found some Hist sap well enough, but he had no idea what sort of dose to give. He ended up giving me far more than I should have had, and my pattern grew into an asymmetrical mess. It's also why I'm overly tall and have been gawked at by even those not of my kind. Certain areas grew in a way that appeals to them.”

He had the grace to not acknowledge the areas she mentioned, but now he did take a good look at her tail, noticing that she did indeed have an asymmetrical black pattern of ragged lines running rampant over her skin. “It's better than that illusion.”

“You really hate that thing, don't you?” she asked with a laugh. “You're going to have to get used to it, I am looking forward to starting my stronghold.”

“Ah, that's right, I nearly forgot!” Suddenly he rose to his feet, nearly upsetting the small stack of books on a nearby table in his haste. He removed a wrapped bundle of cloth from atop a storage shelf, handing it to her with care. “I had this made up for you. I can't have you running about looking like a commoner, now that you're a true wizard.”

Curious, she undid the wrapping, a long mage's robe unfurling from its rolled form. It was dyed in the earthy browns of the house, and designed in the same manner. Much like his own robes, it was accompanied by a long flap in the front emblazoned with the symbol of House Telvanni. She held it to herself, noting that it was the correct length. “Ah, thank you, it's perfect!”

“Are you content with just staring at it?”

She laughed. “Hardly.” The robe slipped easily over her current clothing, overlaying the plain tunic and pants. It had a front enclosure instead of a closed neck, as well as a slit up the back to allow her to move her tail freely. Ease of use had clearly been a priority over appearance, but she thought she looked very much the part of a Telvanni councilor now. She turned about to glance at the back in the light, the hem just skirting above her long claws. “Fits quite well, I'd say. How do I look?”

As he looked at the way the shades of brown matched her own dark brown scales, he was struck by how well it suited her. She looked more confident, perhaps even proud. Well, he thought, she should be proud. She had worked hard over the past several months to get where she was. Both of them had. Aryon came close, glad to see the joy in her eyes. “It looks damned well better on you than it will on that blasted Lenassa.”

“Alright, alright, I get it! I won't use Lenassa if I don't have to!”

“Good.” Without thinking he reached out to straighten her collar, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly against her neck. He felt her skin shift as she took in a sudden breath, her eyes widening slightly at the unexpected move. She didn't pull away, standing so very still. When he pulled away, she managed a small murmur of thanks before excusing herself to her room, leaving him there to wonder what had just happened. In the confusion he hadn't noticed that his heart had started to race, sending a surge of energy through his veins. Why? How could something so simple lead to this? He sat back down on the couch, watching the flames in the fireplace as they raged on, so very similar to his sudden turmoil.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Upon waking in the early morning, before the overnight fog even had time to clear, Laje-tal hastened to leave Tel Vos. Everyone was still asleep, and she didn't want to have to greet anyone on her way out. If something happened, she didn't want a morose departure in the fog to be the last thing anyone remembered. Why that was, she couldn't fathom. All she could think of was the look in Aryon's eyes the evening before, an abnormal vulnerability present in his gaze.

She used a spell of divine intervention to transport herself directly to Sadrith Mora, just outside the Imperial chapel at Wolverine Hall. The cool stone under her feet signaled her arrival, the damp, crisp fog rolling around her form. Absently she smoothed down the front of her new Telvanni robes, contemplating what little she could see of Sadrith Mora in the fog. Now might be a fair enough time for Lenassa to make an appearance. Her visible form shifted, the illusory Dunmer coming out in her robes. When she looked down at herself, the small gray hands and more petite form wearing her clothes, she wondered if she looked as strange as she felt.

There was a bit of time to waste before the mid-morning boat left for Ebonheart. For a moment she wondered what had become of Jiub, the peculiar man who accompanied her on the boat to Vvardenfell. He was taken on from Seyda Neen to Ebonheart for some reason or another. There had been a rumor running about that he was on a crusade to kill cliff-racers, but nobody was sure whether to believe that. Still, she wouldn't complain if someone killed cliff-racers, and she doubted anyone else would, either.

Laje-tal stood as tall as her shorter illusion could, adopting the self-important walk of a pretentious Telvanni mage as she made haste for the Telvanni side of the city. Imperials looked at her as she passed but she snubbed them with a glare or a haughty huff. Lenassa wouldn't deal with the likes of them. She graciously greeted any Telvanni she met, introducing her fake self to merchants and service providers as she pretended to peruse their items for sale. The Telvanni council house was her next stop, and she made quite a show of her magical prowess and told a wild tale of how she had come to be the very promising student of Master Aryon. The tale wasn't overly embellished, just enough to get their interest, but personally she found it ridiculous.

After putting in an appearance at the central tower in Sadrith Mora as well, keeping well away from those who might see through her illusion, she finally exited the main section of the isle, heaving a sigh of relief. With any luck, they would be talking about Lenassa soon. She boarded the mid-morning boat for Ebonheart just in time, still disguised. It would be necessary now to obtain the proper documentation to start her stronghold, and she would need to petition Duke Dren himself for it. While the Duke wasn't against foreigners, his brother most certainly was. The foul state of the slaves on Dren plantation and the rumors of his ties to the Camonna Tong crime lords was more than enough to prove that. She scowled at the thought.

On the long voyage from Sadrith Mora to Ebonheart, Laje-tal took the time to read over her notes and edit them. Her journal had become very full with all that had been happening lately, and her notes were all but spilling out of it. After a while, however, she was again drawn to the sight of the strange hands of Lenassa in the sleeves of her new robes. She remembered the accidental touch of Aryon's fingers on her neck, sending a slight shiver down her spine just as it had then. What happened? There was no reason for such a simple, practical touch to bring about a strange, involuntary reaction like that. He had often made contact with her in their lessons and spars, why was this any different?

The memory of the men who had tried to lure her into willing or unwilling sexual acts made her shudder. She recalled their lustful eyes and leering grins. Was that it? Did he, too, somehow want to use her? He certainly behaved differently about it, if that was the case. He hadn't tried to pursue when she backed away, didn't say anything to try to draw her in. If anything, he had seemed just as uncertain about the situation as herself. Perhaps it had all been an accident, brought on by the excitement of all that was soon to come. Aryon did sometimes get carried away when everything was going particularly well. She sighed. Maybe she was being silly about all of this. Why would someone of his kind be interested, anyway? While the Telvanni were quite well known for being eccentric, this sort of thing was unheard of. Perhaps she was only feeling overly grateful to him for the opportunities he had opened up for her. Absently she looked out the small window, watching as the scenery changed.

The industrious, Imperial city of Ebonheart was in sight just after the noon meal, boats and stout gondolas loading and unloading cargo and people. Laje-tal tucked away her notes, thoughts returning to the task at hand. She needed to focus to maintain her illusion; it sure wouldn't do to suddenly change form in front of the Grand Duke. Once the boat was safely docked, she stepped out onto the smooth stone-paved streets, still unsettled by the way her feet looked upon it. Lenassa was going to take some getting used to. Her wide, three-toed feet were still technically there in reality and she couldn't trust her sight to guide her steps on this unfamiliar terrain, nor how she would now have to turn as if she didn't have a tail.

That brought up another thought. No matter what, she had to be absolutely sure that nobody touched her. The illusion, while quite realistic, would not cover up the texture of her skin or the shape of her body. With any luck there would be no need for anyone to make contact, but she was still in a city she had been in only once before – and had been chased out of. She tucked her tail down close to her legs, hands clasped in front as she walked past the enormous, twisted black dragon statue and through the bustling East Empire Company warehouses. Ebonheart was the heart of the Company in Vvardenfell, the trading coming in and out making it also the economic center of the small continent. That also meant it was extremely busy and full of people, so she summoned a magical ward around herself on top of the illusion to hopefully deter others away. Would Lenassa do something like this? It didn't seem implausible.

After getting lost once due to bad directions, she finally found her way back to the Grand Council building, in which she became lost again. The Council building had an odd layout to its Imperial structure, rife with towers that just led to dead ends with only a flat top for sentries. Finally she found the Duke's audience chamber and she held back a sigh of relief. That was terrible. She entered the chamber swiftly, back straight and head high. Lenassa would come in here as if she owned the place.

The Grand Duke was a rather imposing Dunmer in his nearly full suit of ebony armor, only the helm left aside. His Imperial guards were a stark contrast in pale steel, the finest sort of men that her fellow caravan guards had aspired to be. Her first inclination was to be forthright with the Duke and simply state her business as it was, but she pushed the thought down. No, she needed to be as unlike an Imperial as possible. She should be more like that annoying battlemage from Sadrith Mora. Her approach was slow and deliberate, as if she had simply wandered into the place on a lark, seeming to only now notice that the Duke was present.

“Why would you look at that, if it isn't the Grand Duke himself!” she said with her best mainland accent. “I dare say, I had meant to drop by one of these days to properly introduce myself, but I have been far too busy with my very extensive research. The work of the Telvanni is never over, as I'm sure you're well aware.”

As hoped the Duke noticed her accent right away, frowning at her tone. “Indeed. Why is it that you have come to petition an audience, outlander? I have many pressing matters to attend to.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose, I suppose. Very well. I have been advised by my patron that I should inquire after a construction contract to permit my stronghold to be built. He is of the opinion that Uvirith's Grave is a proper site for the new tower and I am well prepared to pay whatever fee is necessary for it.”

“I don't take bribes, child. I'm not even sure I should give you a contract. I require something far more valuable than money for such a thing. Too many problems threaten this land, and unless you have the intent of aiding my people, you will not get one.”

Inwardly she was a little moved by his words, glad that the Duke had a genuine concern for his lands and people. For a moment her mask dropped slightly and she smiled. “I will do what little good I can for the welfare of Vvardenfell.” Then, realizing she had slipped out of her role, she added, “I'm sure a few blight and disease curing potions can be given out to the poor and needy.”

Duke Vedam Dren was hardly impressed, but he did concede with a slight nod. “If you will hold true to your word, then consider it done.” From a nearby desk he withdrew a contract template, filling in the few extra things needed for the area she mentioned. So much had been built in Vvardenfell over the past few years that he needed to have these templates already drawn and on hand. He handed over the completed form warily. “See to it you do as you say you will. I will be watching you.”

She offered a nod of gratitude, accepting the papers. “You will have no trouble from me. Farewell.” With that she departed as languidly as she came, trying not to seem in a hurry. Inside, however, she was rather mad at herself. Gods, why didn't she practice more with her character? It had been so easy to work over the people in Sadrith Mora she knew so well, but she would have to be more cautious when dealing with those who may not receive a pompous Telvanni very well. Once out of sight of anyone else, she magically sent off the contract and two filled grand soul gems to Eddie, along with a note to turn it in to Llunela Hleran, the woman in charge of stronghold construction. With any luck that preliminary step could be on its way to being done when she returned - if she returned.

 

* * *

 

Gnaar Mok was a very sorry looking scrap of a town, a collection of worn down wooden shacks and one lone Hlaalu manor. As was often the case, the people of this small town were wary of outsiders, but after a bit of persuasion they told her about the peculiar activities that had been going on in the area. Naturally, strange noises had been heard around the entrance to the cave, unusual smells coming from things better left unmentioned. The wet, fetid nature of the swamp made smells like that even worse, and approaching the cavern with her strong sense of smell had been nearly unbearable.

She was nearly invisible, her carefully layered enchantments working together to cloak her from sight. The darkness of the inner caverns worked in her favor, her talons silent against the floor as she crept along. A low, deep thrum of chanting echoed through one of the caverns. Dunmer men and women, hypnotized by the magics of the Sixth House, paced through the caves, all wandering entirely in the nude. A pair of gray ash slaves grumbled over an arrangement of stolen chairs.

While the technique of stealth may have been viewed as dishonorable by some, it was also practical. There was no sense wasting energy on an unnecessary battle, especially when her goal was only to eliminate Dagoth Gares. Invisible, she could focus on navigating the confusing mess of tunnels and find her way to the center of the base. After a few false turns, she found evidence of an actual shrine. Black and red cairns burned with intense heat and light, ash statue pillars placed at even intervals. An ash ghoul nearby took a moment to kneel and venerate the shrine, seemingly unaware of her presence. Her heart nearly lurched in her throat as his eyes met hers, so very close as she crept near to lay a blow on him. No, he had been watching her. He knew about her all along.

 

* * *

Laje-tal abruptly returned from her investigation of Ilunibi in her usual burst of magic, though she felt a little more tired than usual, the strength seeming to have left her muscles. The back of her neck itched somewhat, but she managed to escape the cavern relatively unscathed, Dagoth Gares eliminated and the area near Gnaar Mok fairly quiet. She was again grateful that she had chosen the option of a stealth investigation, given the quantity of ash creatures that were in the caverns. All she wanted now was a good rest, and she wasn't quite prepared for the eager greeting that Eddie met her with.

“Welcome back!” He rushed in her direction with an exuberance that only made her more tired, though he caught on to her exhaustion quickly and ushered her to a nearby chair. “You'd better sit down, you look about as drained as my jug of sujamma. I think you'll be excited to see what Aryon has put together!” He peered at her, concerned. “Are you alright?”

She shot him a halfhearted glare. “Eddie, I have had an exhausting couple days. I paraded Lenassa around Sadrith Mora like the Queen at a festival, kept a high level illusion up through that and all of Ebonheart, then I cleared out a Sixth House base. The spells I used to maintain a high level of stealth in that very long set of caverns were very draining. I'm quite alright, I just need rest! What is all of this?” Before her was a generous stack of papers, all listing materials and staff rosters.

“Aryon will be back shortly, he's just in town delivering potions. I promised I wouldn't ruin the surprise, though if you figure it out on your own I'm in the clear! I didn't say I wouldn't stop you!”

Curiosity won out over exhaustion, and she couldn't help but be encouraged by his excitement. She took a paper from the stack, scanning over its contents. “All of this can't be for Tel Vos. Is this-?”

“Wait, wait! I think he's coming back.” He took the paper and shifted it back into the stack just before Aryon came into the living area. Aryon instantly brightened when he saw that Laje-tal had returned, approaching with a much calmer greeting.

“I see that your friend has done little to prevent the surprise being ruined for you. I...” He paused, uncertain of his feelings. Despite all he had done to throw himself into his work after she left, he hadn't been able to erase the memory of what had happened before her departure. “I took the liberty of arranging the requisitions for your stronghold.”

Excited, she looked over the papers and the propositions for the development of the site. All of the listings of items seemed sound, and included a few things she hadn't thought of. She rose, facing him with a bright smile. “You didn't!”

Her smile was infectious and he found himself joining in. “I did. Everything will be arranged as soon as the signing is complete. It will take a fair few days to start the growth of the tower, so there is still time to make adjustments if necessary.”

“I'm certain you would know what is needed, but I will look it over. I can't begin to tell you how relieved I am that this is taken care of. I'm so exhausted I don't think I could even begin a list right now.” She moved to take the plans to her room when suddenly the room spun out of control, her senses failing her as she faltered and started to fall. Thankfully Eddie was close enough to reach out and steady her back on her feet, his concern plain in his tone.

“You've gone and overdone it again. Leave the lists for tomorrow, you need to get yourself straight to bed!”

Something was wrong. She could feel it. An abnormal strength came over her and she broke away from him, hands clutching at her aching head. Aryon started to reach for her but in a brief fit of madness she swiped at him with her claws, leaving a slash on his left arm just deep enough to make him bleed. Horrified, she withdrew, groaning as the malady made her fall to her knees in distress, fighting her will to overcome it. "No! Stay away!” What was happening? How could she have done such a thing?

Aryon approached her, troubled and wary. “What's wrong? Is it your magic?”

Behind her Eddie backed away, pointing at her as his face paled. “By Azura! Get away from her! Look at the back of her neck, she has corprus!”

“What?” He swore under his breath, coming around close enough to see that indeed, she had the beginning stages of the flesh-deforming corprus disease. It was something he had witnessed so very often in his studies. “Damn it all. We'd better get her to my old master right away before she infects anyone.”

“Aryon... you're bleeding.”

In the confusion he hadn't noticed the trivial scratch but now he looked at his arm, the mark bleeding slightly. A cold, sinking feeling punched through him, knowing what this might mean. Nobody could cure corprus. All who caught it died or became a mad, hulking beast of rotting flesh. That fate could very well be the fate of them both now. “She got me. I'd better go with her, in case I've been infected too. I don't... can you manage Vos in the meantime? You didn't touch her skin, did you?”

“No, no, just her outer clothes. I can handle things here as long as needed, but what if...” Eddie trailed off, not wanting to say what they both knew could happen.

What if, indeed. He had always been so careful when he had trained under Divayth Fyr, never making contact with the patients and using proper hygiene, he never worried much about getting infected, especially since Fyr himself had gone for so many years without incident. Now, not even close to the corprusarium or the monsters who carried the disease, he might ironically fall victim to it. “If the worst happens, it's unavoidable. Tel Vos would have to be left in other hands.”

Laje-tal stirred from her prone position on the floor, her eyes wide with fear and remorse. “Aryon, I am so very sorry. It came over me in a flash, I didn't know what I was doing. I never touched any of those creatures, or anyone with the disease. I didn't even come close. I don't know how I could have...” She froze, the memory of her exploits in Ilunibi coming to mind. “It must have been Dagoth Gares. The last thing he said was that even as his master wills, I shall come to him, in his flesh and of his flesh. I had no idea what he meant by that, but maybe this was it.”

With a frown Aryon crouched next to her, looking into her fevered gaze. “I know you wouldn't have harmed me willingly. The corprus disease is known to make people mad, irrational and violent. I also know that you would have taken every precaution not to catch the disease. It must have to do with the Nerevarine Prophecy. Those notes you took on the _Seven Visions_ stated that one of the signs was that the curse of flesh before him flies, and blight nor age may harm him. All who are infected by corprus can't be afflicted with any disease or poison, and the infected are immortal if they are not killed by an outside force. If this curse of flesh is to fly from you, it must signify that it could be cured. Either way, the best thing we can do is to see Divayth Fyr immediately. If anyone can help us, he can.”

“You could die from this!”

“I know, but worrying about it won't help. We must go now while the symptoms are just starting. Early treatment might just be the key and we'd better get there while we still have our minds.” He held out his hand to help her up. “This is the best chance we have.”

She shook her head. “I will go, I know it's all we can do, but let's not take chances. If you're still not infected, I won't risk coming in contact with you or touching anything else in here. Eddie...” Now she turned to face her old friend, torn. “I don't know what to say. If I don't make it out of this, I want you to know that it has been an honor being your friend. I regret none of the trouble we have gotten into together. I'm glad that we met and that I was able to help you as you have helped me. Thank you.”

Eddie looked distraught, arms crossed tight over his chest, red brows drawn sharply. “I am grateful as well. If you don't return, consider this your farewell. I swear I will take care of this place as long as needed.”

Aryon rose to look over a nearby low stone platform, an intricate design carved into its surface. He withdrew a few filled soul gems from a shelf overhead, humming in thought. “I believe I can get this old teleportation rune to work. It's been a while since I've aimed it at Tel Fyr but I'll bet he still keeps his rune just as I have.” The soul gems were inserted into key slots on the edges, the etching glowing a faint blue as it activated. He sighed. “That should do it, I think. Laje-tal, you'd better go first so I can maintain the spell.”

“Alright,” she agreed, stepping onto the platform without looking back. She couldn't look back. Instead she waited for the magic to transport her to Tel Fyr, managing a few steps forward into the tower before falling weakly to her knees again. Moments later, Aryon appeared, hesitating to come near when she waved him back. “I'm fine enough, but I don't think I can levitate up to Fyr's study. I don't trust myself to not attack him, either. Could you go up and tell him what happened?”

He backed away, worried, as her breaths came in harsh rasps, her tail starting to contort at an unnatural angle. “I will. Just lay there and rest, I'll see if he can come down to you.”

Her only response was a strangled groan, her throat clenching and heart racing. If she were able to sweat, she supposed she would probably be in a veritable puddle of it. The minutes seemed to drag on like hours, the foul disease tearing through her insides. After it raged for a time, the pain started to subside, leaving her to try to sit back up. When had she started to lay down? Everything was a blur. Weak and confused she tried to stand, making it to her feet just as Aryon and Fyr came down from the upper study. Aryon looked pale and worried. She couldn't manage a step, and waited until they came close. “I'm sorry I can't offer you a proper greeting, Wizard.”

Divayth Fyr was the only person she had ever seen in nearly complete Daedric armor, only the helm missing. His hair was white with age, his face worn and creased. Nobody knew how old he was but all agreed he was the eldest of the Telvanni. He ignored her lack of greeting, instead looking over her skin and eyes. “A clear case of the divine disease for both of you, though in your case the symptoms are more sudden. Well. It can be variable. Were your eyes always that color? I do seem to remember you but it escapes me.”

Aryon, subdued by his diagnosis, spoke quietly. “She is my student, the one I have written to you about.”

“Is that so? How peculiar. That does explain the clothing. As you know, this disease is quite incurable. You are welcome to stay in the corprusarium, though of course I will study you. Tell me, though, how did you come upon the disease? An infected creature? Another victim?”

Laje-tal stood steadily now, her strength returning. “I was investigating the Nerevarine prophecies.” She hesitated and glanced at Aryon, who gave her a slight nod. Yes, she had better be completely forthcoming in her information. “I was sent to Vvardenfell in hopes of fulfilling that prophecy and becoming the Nerevarine. As an outlander with unknown parents, I met some of the conditions and the Imperials seemed to think I might be a fair candidate to fulfill the rest. Apparently I'm doing quite a good job of it so far.”

He laughed, hand to his chin in thought. “Indeed, the Ashlanders do say that the Nerevarine would be immune to disease. I often wondered if one of my patients might be the Nerevarine! Can you imagine? Well, maybe you are, maybe you're having delusions, who can say? I suppose...” He paused as he looked them both over. “Hm. I do have a potion I have been wanting to test on early cases. In theory, it should cure you, but so far it hasn't worked on anyone. All dead, what a waste. Still, at this point, you have nothing to lose. You're welcome to try the potion, though I insist you first visit the Corprusarium and understand what may become of you if you don't take it. Aryon knows his way around and I'm sure he will show you about the caverns. Oh, almost forgot.” From a nearby chest he withdrew a set of Dwemer boots, handing them to her. “While you're there, have Yagrum Bagarn look at these and see if he can repair them. Do that for me and we can talk about the potion.”

Aryon took the boots instead, the heavy armor not something he wanted her burdened with. “We will do so, Master. Thank you.” He led the way down the tunnels of the tower to the lower levels, only pausing to speak with her once they were well away from prying ears. “I hope you aren't too put off by his manners, he's not much for socializing when he has his head in a project.”

She only followed after him with a huff, more concerned about making it to the corprusarium. “Not at all. A blunt manner can sometimes be refreshing. I'm hardly any better when I'm too focused on my research to be bothered, either. Who is Yagrum Bagarn?”

“Ah, I think you will like him! He is the last living Dwemer.”

Unconvinced, she mustered the energy to give him a sidelong look. “A Dwemer? The same as the Dwemer who all disappeared? How did that happen?”

“The very same,” he agreed, no levity in his tone. “He was in another plane, possibly an Oblivion plane, at the time of the disappearance. Apparently the incident only affected Mundus, so he was spared. He's had corprus for a very long time now, longer than anyone else. He's actually the person who inspired my master to start researching the disease to try finding a cure. Nothing has helped much, but he hasn't been hurt by any of the experiments as far as I know. He has been a real trove of information and was very patient with all of my questions. There are a few other people, Fyr's... ah, well, I suppose daughters is the correct term for them. It's a long story. He also has an Argonian warden, he's a decent enough sort.”

Beside him she was quiet, listening to him talk about the history of the tower, a few amusing or interesting incidents that happened, how adventurers often came to plunder the tower's treasures and other such notable stories. It did little to ease her raging guilt, knowing that he was now also afflicted with this horrid disease. She couldn't bear the thought of him turning into one of those monsters because of her. “Aryon, please wait. I can't...” When a bout of weakness took over, she grabbed his arm, her grip light but firm. He turned to face her, his eyes clouded with resignation. He, too, seemed to be just as conflicted about their situation.

“I know. It's alright. I assumed many risks when I accepted you as my student and when I agreed to help you with the Nerevarine prophecies. I did not go into this entirely naive and foolish. There's nothing either of us can say that will make this situation any better. Let me simply do what little I can to make the time we have left easier.”

She didn't release her hold on his arm, the steady support comforting. “Very well. If you want a tale, then, I have a very good one about a scamp and a kagouti who were seen playing with a noble man's chair. The noble man was using it at the time, however!”

“Oh really now? This sounds like a real farce.”

“It's true, ten of us in the caravan saw it happen on the outskirts of Narsis. That man was hanging on for dear life to that chair as they threw him back and forth! We helped him, of course, but oh did everyone laugh about it in the bars at night! Barenziah tried looking rather offended at the whole mess but I could tell she was laughing on the inside.”

Aryon listened on with a slight smile, encouraged by her acceptance. Despair and misery was not how he wanted to spend the last of his sane moments, and it was unknown how much time they may have. Corprus could kill within a single day if it progressed wildly enough, or thousands of years as it had with Yagrum. The potion might kill them outright. He personally resolved to accept it, already knowing what awaited if he didn't. Finally they reached the lowest level, their progress slow due to Laje-tal's recurring shakes. She still held to his arm to keep steady, and he worried at how quickly the disease was passing through her. “Will you be able to make it back up after we've looked around?”

“I don't know,” she replied honestly. “It keeps coming in waves and I don't know when the next will come. I will try.”

“Alright. Once we get past the gate I will need to cast invisibility so the creatures on the first floor won't attack. They're particularly hostile and have been known to swarm in groups. Yagrum is on the lowest level, where all of the better cases are. Just don't harm them and they won't harm you. Don't kill anyone or Fyr will never help either of us ever again!”

“I doubt I could harm a rat in this condition. Don't worry, I will stay by your side and do as you do.”

Through a short cavern stood the rough but sturdy wooden gate separating the area from the various corprus beasts ahead. On attendance was the Argonian warden Aryon had spoken with quite a few times during his studies, and he offered the man a friendly smile. “Well, Vistha-Kai, it finally happened. I've got the disease. Mind letting us in?” Beside him Laje-tal's grip on him tightened, her horns lowered in Vistha-Kai's direction.

The other man grinned in recognition, moving to unlock the gate. “It was only a matter of time, eh? Who is your friend?”

Laje-tal made a noise he had never heard from her before, somewhere between a low growl and a hiss. He tried his best to save the situation. “I'm sorry, she's a bit farther gone into the disease than I am. She is my student and we need to see Yagrum straight away. Excuse us.” With haste he led them both through the gate, casting invisibility over them both as they winded through the outer caverns and into the lower level. Only when they were safe and visible did he turn to look at her, concerned that she had slipped farther into the madness. “Are you alright? You look fevered.”

Thankfully she had somewhat settled down, though she still clutched his arm tightly. “I'm sorry, he looked just like... never mind. I'm fine.”

Unconvinced, he frowned. “Are you sure? This disease can cause all sorts of mad delusions and visions. One moment you are yourself, the next you're a cliff-racer with a purple wig dancing on tables! If you start seeing things, it-”

“Stop,” she interrupted. “There are only visions of a dead man. He's dead, he's dead and buried in the field next to Dro'Jelan, under the crooked tree that bent when it rained.”

“Who...” He paused, suddenly realizing who she meant. Dro'Jelan was that slave she had mentioned before, and Vistha-Kai might have resembled the Argonian man who had tried to force her, the one she had killed. “Yes, he is dead, you killed him yourself as you've said.” No matter what, he needed to keep her calm. They couldn't risk the consequences even if the disease was what caused her violence. “Even a necromancer wouldn't bother with the likes of him now.”

After a moment her grip loosened, a slight huff breaking the silence. “He would make a hideous thrall.” She followed along quietly, grateful for his perception and understanding. Perhaps she was indeed being delusional, because the sight of Vistha-Kai sent her memories straight back to that horrid mine. “Gods, does he look just like Mular-Da, though. Smokeskin looks nothing alike, Skink only somewhat, but Vistha-Kai? They are so alike they could have been brothers.”

At a loss, he remained silent as they crossed the cavern. Now, unexpectedly, there was a name and face to attach to the man who had caused so much pain to his fellow slaves. Whether that was something that mattered, he couldn't tell. He wasn't even sure why she told him. Slowly they approached the inner area where Yagrum resided, the nearby corprus creatures wandering aimlessly. A well-stocked book shelf stood near, and several comfortable cushions were scattered about for guests. Food and drink seemed to have just been brought in and the smell was enticing. What caught Laje-tal's sight, however, was Yagrum himself.

If one were courteous, they would describe Yagrum as heavily modified. His lower body was nearly all gone, replaced by a Dwemer spider contraption that he seemed to be able to control. While he wasn't as disfigured as some, he still showed severe signs of skin lesions and bloating. What was left of him didn't tell much about what others of his kind used to look like, though he met them with a kind smile. “Well if it isn't Master Aryon. I assume those boots are for me to take a look at?”

Aryon handed over the boots, glad to have the heavy things out of the way. “That, and we may well be joining you here for a while.” He showed the scratch on his left arm, the area now red and actively deteriorating. “If that new potion Fyr wants to try doesn't kill us, at least.”

“Oh dear. I did often worry that one of us might spread the disease to you.” He pulled at his long gray and white beard in thought, looking over the other person who had come along. Honestly he had no idea what to make of a strange Argonian in Telvanni clothing. “I see your companion is faring worse. I will try to make this inspection as quick for you as possible, unless you have any questions.”

Laje-tal managed to speak, though she wasn't sure how she found the strength as a wave of weakness washed over her. “I doubt I could even stay conscious for as long as my questions would take, never mind the answers. I hate to be rude, but I would rather this be over with.”

“Understandable. Well, these boots do look rather terrible, I don't think there is much I can do for it.” He inspected the core where the primary enchantment was supposed to be, the region cracked and broken beyond saving. “The enchantment on this piece is irreparable, a technique I couldn't replicate even with the best equipment. The boots themselves are worn in a few places that are concerning. I could break this down into its base metal, but there is nothing more I can do for it. Please send Fyr my regrets.”

The floor seemed to fall from underneath her as Aryon moved to retrieve the boots, her grip on his arm gone when her extremities went numb. There were voices around her but she couldn't hear what they said, muffled noises ringing through her head. It all returned in a surge when someone turned her onto her back, Aryon's voice cutting through the fog. “Gods, Laje-tal, I hope you can forgive me for this.” Strong hands lifted her up from the ground, arms under her legs and back as she was shifted into a better position. What smelled of charred wood and black anther? She blearily opened her eyes to see that she was being held, her nose nearly against Aryon's robes. Well, that explained the smell. Everything fell into a blur, her mind only vaguely aware of their passage through the tower, lost within the constant back and forth pulsations of weakness and agony.

Someone held her face in their hands, speaking. What were they saying? They touched her brow, her hand. Her mouth was held open to take in a liquid, the sweet taste clear and refreshing. Whatever it was seemed to have the effect needed, restoring her enough to open her eyes and hear what was being said. She was on the floor of Fyr's study, watched over by Fyr, Aryon and Vistha-Kai. The other Argonian had likely been brought in as the only real authority on her kind, though seeing him only worsened the haze that had been distorting her thoughts. She had no idea what she said, later recalling only what happened next when she was sane enough to ask after the potion they hoped would cure herself and Aryon. When offered, her answer was clear and rational. “I will accept it.”

Aryon, also seated right across from her, had already taken his share in hand. He now seemed to have worsened as well, looking flushed and sweating profusely. Despite this he maintained some of his humor, nodding her way with a wry smile. “Any last thoughts, regrets, words of wisdom or witty puns?”

She returned the smile, though she decided to answer the question seriously. “I regret not knowing who my parents were. I should have tried harder to find out, but maybe I did everything I could. Maybe there is nothing to find out. If we make it, I swear I will try harder to find out who they were.”

“A good sentiment.” For a brief moment he considered his own regrets. He regretted trying to use an extra attenuating crystal during the construction of the lower tower, for yelling at Drelan when the man was trying to tear him away from a project, for choosing the wrong rug for the study. So many large and small things that never seemed to matter at the time now came to the forefront as a series of things that should have been done with more thought and care. “It is too late to change the past.” He mocked a toast with his bottle. “Here's to a better future, with or without us.”

“A better future,” she agreed, taking the substance down all at once as he did the same. The concoction smelled and tasted terrible, and went down like a lump of steel. It was the last thing she thought before a searing pain overtook her, burning all hopes of concentration on the effects from her mind. All went black, lost in the abyss.

From nowhere a strange voice entered her thoughts. _Wake, you who holds my soul. It is done._

Laje-tal woke in an instant, sitting up in a strange bed. She was on a simple bedroll in the bowels of the Corprusarium, Aryon seated near her feet. He looked relieved, and she suddenly realized what happened. They were alive! Why were they back in the Corprusarium? “Did the potion fail?” Her voice sounded rough and tired. Was that normal?

His smile was triumphant and he gestured widely. “A complete success! I have never seen Fyr so stunned in all my days! It's fascinating how this works. We still have the disease, you see, but he negated all of the detrimental effects that result from it.”

“Is that so?” She looked down at her hands, her muscles no longer screaming in agony, her scales no longer itching. Then, she looked at his left arm, which still sported a nasty set of blisters. “Your arm still looks as bad as it did before. I suspect my neck is the same?”

“Yes. The damage that has been done to our skin so far might not be reversible, but it at least won't get worse. Fyr said that it's good we came as soon as we did. The fast treatment might have been why we both survived. Usually he is the last person someone goes to when they come down with corprus, and by then it is far too late. As for why we're down here again, Fyr wants to monitor us for a week or two to be certain we have no more symptoms and can't be re-infected. He wants us to make plenty of contact with the less aggressive infected and see what happens. Oh... also, Vistha-Kai might come by to apologize to you. Apparently you both said some rather horrible things to each other.”

“Did we? Oh dear. I don't even know what I said, it must have been awful. I will be sure to apologize to him as well. I kept getting such horrible visions, I must have really thought he was Mular-Da at some point. Where is he? I think I had better go to him straight away.”

“You'd better stay still.” He laid a hand on her lower leg, firmly urging her to stay. “Fyr's orders. We're the first real success he's had and he wants to do this right. That means sitting still for a while. Ah... that reminds me, there's one more thing.” As his hand withdrew, he frowned. “We're immortal now.”

“Damn.” She shifted slightly, uncomfortable in the position she had been laid in. “I can't imagine even the concept of living forever. Your kin may live for a thousand or more years but mine are as fleeting as the races of men. It is part of the cycle of the Hist, as I have heard, for us to pass within it when we are gone and be born anew. What would become of one who has an unnatural span? Even Telvanni magic can't suspend one's aging forever.”

“We will find out, it seems.”

Vistha-Kai now approached their corner, his steel armor glinting in the flickering torchlight. He seemed hesitant, though it was hard to tell as he held an Argonian's typically passive expression. His intent was unmistakable, though, when he offered a solemn nod in her direction. “I'm sure you've been informed on why I'm here. I've been a bit of a hot-head in the past, or so they tell me, and I said a few things I shouldn't have. I know the corprus does a number on the head, so I should have known better than to take what you said personally.”

“I'm sorry as well,” she replied without hesitation. “You looked so very much like an Argonian I once had trouble with, I mistook you for him when the madness overcame me. I don't know what I said to you or what you said in return, but I forgive you and I hope you can do the same for me.”

He shuffled nervously, not being the sort of person for words of this sort. His understanding lay more in the realm of the sword and shield. “That does explain why you called me a _rahxiheel-wul_. I said that you were a Hist-ruined _dhalxiret_.”

“Well, let there be no more of that, then.” Resolute, she held out her hand, smiling with relief as he stooped to shake it. “Let the past be the past.”

Vistha-Kai stood straight, a clenched hand over his chest in a rather formal, Redoran-style salute. What sort of strange history did he have to use that gesture out of reflex? “Forgotten, then. I will return to my duties.” With that he left as abruptly as he came, heading back toward the entrance. Laje-tal sighed, wondering what other things she had said.

“I'm glad to clear that away. I should have never called him such a thing, he seems like a good man. He should be, for all that you and Fyr trust him. I must have been more mad than I realized.”

Across from her Aryon returned her troubled look. “I don't know, you both started talking entirely in Jel. I only understood the part about him saying that you were Hist-ruined.”

“Yes, well, that part is quite true, as you know. He called me a... oh, what's the word... I suppose a whore would be the best interpretation. It would be used for a woman who intentionally ruins herself with too much Hist sap during adolescence in an attempt to grow an exaggeratedly proportioned body to attract men with. I'm not bothered, I've been called that many times. I called him a necrophiliac.”

Uncertain, he remained silent for a moment. He almost didn't want to ask the question that immediately came to mind, but he did. “Where did necrophilia come in?”

“Ah... That all goes back to the mine.” Quiet, hesitant, she told the story she had never told anyone before. “I wish you wouldn't tell Eddie about this, he doesn't know and I'd rather he didn't. The situation in the mine was far worse than I made it out to be. Mular-Da was an incurable addict, and his story is a very sad and tragic one. He couldn't help what he was driven to do, and nobody would go to the trouble of helping a lowly slave overcome their insanity. Unless he started chasing after the mistress, and he did indeed do that often, nobody would interfere with his ways. In the mornings I could hear him talking like a man very, very far gone into Skooma, having entire conversations with himself about the women. The overseers wouldn't tolerate that once the work started. One of the Khajiit women did her best to keep his behavior in check by allowing him to take her now and then, but he was insatiable.”

Aryon swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat at the implication. He had a good idea where this was going. “So he sought out the dead?”

She nodded grimly. “Just so. He did have preferences, of course. The long-dead were never considered, only the ones who had recently passed. I saw him digging up a grave the same day a woman had been buried there. I used to think he was a mindless monster, but I know better now. He was very sick in the head, and nobody could help him.”

A long pause passed between them, the horrifying tale leaving him speechless. Briefly he wondered how many other things there were that she hadn't wanted to say. “Eddie doesn't know about this? Wasn't he in the same mine?”

“He came in after Mular-Da was dead and wasn't there for particularly long before we escaped. None of us wanted to talk about the past. Apparently provincial Argonians in general don't talk much about their lives before they moved on to wherever they went. I just couldn't bring myself to tell him. I don't know why. I don't even know why I tell you these things.”

Aryon leaned further down the wall, exhausted. He, too, had no idea why she shared such things with him, but he was glad she knew she could. Perhaps that was all it took, just lending an ear. “I could slander you from here to the Summerset Isles with all you have told me, you know.”

Her tail flicked as she chuckled, landing lightly on his leg when she moved to lay back down. “You wouldn't.”

He glanced down briefly at the gesture before closing his eyes. “You're right. I wouldn't.”

 

* * *

While the next few days passed by, the time that followed was filled with hours of testing and analysis. Divayth Fyr was fascinated by how well they had recovered, with no ill effects besides the leftover itching, red sores. He collected samples of the affected skin, swabs of saliva, and a few of Laje-tal's shed scales. Several questions were asked about the Nerevarine Prophecy, the trials undergone so far, how the Ashlanders had received an Argonian as the potential Nerevarine. When there had been free time, however, Laje-tal made a point to ask Yagrum all of her burning questions about Dwemer culture. She shared Baladas's theories and speculations on several devices and furniture pieces, and wrote down everything that was discussed. Thankfully he received the questions with good humor.

“I daresay, Laje-tal, you are quite the historian. All anyone bothers to ask me anymore is why my people disappeared, never anything else. I hope you can forgive me for all that I don't know or remember. So much has faded over the years.”

She took it in stride, smiling over her notebook. “I understand. We can't all know everything. Why, look at me, I am an Argonian and I know next to nothing about my own kind. I can't tell you how many times these past few days that Vistha-Kai has come by me doing something that _is not our way_ , as he says! Bah. How would I know? I didn't even know how to properly greet another Argonian until I came to Vvardenfell. Argonian convention is not something one would travel to the Deshaan province to learn about. I am entirely satisfied with anything you can recall.”

“Oh, I think you have drained me of what little I have today, sadly. Don't worry about Vistha-Kai, he is a very proper sort and likes things to be a certain way. Sometimes he is too orderly, but he has made a fine guard for myself and the others. He was the only slave who would not leave when Fyr freed them all, and has stayed on as a trusted friend and partner. He will protect us all with his life, whether he agrees with our ideas or not.”

That was a relief. For a while she had been worried that she had offended Vistha-Kai even more than she initially had. “I'm glad to hear that. Maybe he will also humor a few questions from me about what our way is, if he finds it so important for me to know. I had better find Aryon, first. I'm just itching to get back to our practices now that my magicka has regenerated. Thank you for your time, I truly appreciate your expertise.”

“Not at all, I'm always glad to have a real chat. Come by whenever you like. Ah, there's Aryon now.”

Sure enough, Aryon was heading toward Yagrum's section of the cavern, catching her eye and sitting down on a chair near the far bookshelf. Laje-tal packed away her notes and soon joined him at the chair across from him, noticing that he had brought along a large bucket. The next stage of their work involved her using magic in conjunction with his own, in this case pairing fire with ice to create water. It required quite a bit of focus and control on each of their ends to get the water neither too hot or cold, and would be a prerequisite for learning more complex magic melding later. “Hm, you know, I've done this before. Should I cast fire and you cast ice?”

Aryon huffed, his dark brows arching in amusement. “Let me guess, Master Calcelmo?”

“Naturally,” she said with a laugh. “We didn't have much time for it, though. He left after I had the basics down. I didn't care for it much, his magic always smelled of guar hide and tallow candles. I found it rather unpleasant.”

He rolled up his long sleeves as she did the same, leaning over the bucket. “Alright, go ahead and start with fire while I manage the ice. After a while we can switch off. Start small, adjust to my spell.”

“Right.” When Aryon began his ice spell, she put her hands over the tops of his own, casting fire into the center of their collective magic. She knew from experience that she would need to exude far less magic than she was accustomed to, and started the flame at a faint glow. As his magic grew, she adjusted accordingly, and before long there was a strong stream of water falling into the bucket. Back and forth they adjusted magic, low and high, until they had filled the container.

“Well, I can see why your mentor left you as you were, you're a natural at this. If only you could apply this to restoration.”

“I know, we even tried this same method for a while but I always made the target explode, every single time. The best I've done so far is with a small restoration spell Eddie showed me. I had to use this method to learn even that much, but I managed. I showed him how I grow plants, and he taught me a few extra frost spells. I might be able to do restoration if I tried link magic with him.”

“Oh?” Intrigued, he moved back to sit comfortably. “You two seem very close.”

She mirrored his actions, sitting back in her chair with crossed arms, brow raised. “We're not close in a way that would scandalize anyone, don't worry. His preferences lay in another direction, and as the Imperials say, he is also married to his work. He is like my older brother, a sort of adopted family.”

“Ah, I see.” The bucket was emptied into a nearby cistern, drained away into the sea. “You know, I would like to help you find out who your parents were. I don't know how much help I will be, but maybe having an extra hand at it will do some good.”

“Oh, you don't have to do that. I already tried so many people and places, the records on my people's side were lost. The other side was never found. It's alright, I understand these things happen.”

Stubborn as ever, he didn't relent. “Come now, your one regret when you thought you were dying is worth the trouble, and you swore to try harder if you lived. What do you know?”

She sighed, getting more comfortable. This might take a while. “Alright. I know that I was found as an egg near the border, between Thorn and Tear. It was an Argonian military camp that had been overrun, most likely after my parents perished. I learned they were mercenaries, which explains why few knew their names and knew them better by sight. Many mercenaries were hired into the war without record or names taken because they were needed so badly right then and there. The handful who did know their names were probably killed when the camp was taken. I know they looked just like me, only my father had curved horns and a yellow throat. All I know besides that is I was taken to a false orphanage in Tear and held until I could be sold. Can you believe that idiot woman only sold me for fifty drakes?”

“What an insult,” he stated with a scowl. “Do you know where you were at that time?”

“No, I have no idea. The mine I was sent to was held by Llaril Ienith, one of the distant relatives of the Ieniths who work for the Dren Plantation here. We tried tracing sale records, but I was nowhere to be found, which confirmed I was purchased illegally. I suspect the mistress of the orphanage also obtained me in a way she shouldn't have. I don't know how she came by my jar but there is no record.”

Puzzled, he drew back slightly. “Your... jar?”

“Yes, it seems my egg was kept in some sort of decorative jar full of sand for a while, at least from what we could learn from one of the guards at the in-between point I passed through. They didn't know how to properly care for an Argonian egg and kept my egg dry the whole time I finished developing. It's no wonder I have a knack for fire, I suppose. So, you see, I have tried every path I can think of. There might be nothing left to find.”

“Hmm, the Ieniths of Tear, a glass mine...” He closed his eyes in thought, remembering an incident that had happened around that time. “I recall hearing that a glass mine held by the Ieniths in Tear had been badly destroyed in an incident. Some idiot summoned a flame atronach right by their very flammable house and a pocket of gas was ignited deep in the mine. Oh!” Suddenly he realized what might have happened – and that he inadvertently called her an idiot. “That was you, wasn't it?”

She grinned, not troubled by his error. “Yes, I was that idiot, Eddie will attest I was entirely crazy to summon a flame atronach just barely after I learned how. The explosion in the mine was set off before that. You know someone there?”

“Yes, actually, I do. One of my former guards had gone down there to work at the mine. He was put in charge of acquisition, supplies and such as that. I wonder...”

“Hm, yes, maybe he had to acquire more than just supplies. Are you still in contact?”

Excited, he rose, though he tried not to pace. He really did need to stop that. “Yes, he came back to work with me, actually. He's not in Vos, I sent him out to the south to help look out for the Zainab Ashlanders. I don't expect any trouble, especially now that trade is opened with them, but it doesn't hurt to have an advance watch. I could recall him for a while and see if he knows any more about your past. It's worth a try.”

Though she smiled, encouraged by the possibilities, she tried not to get her hopes up. So many years had gone by with so little found, it was quite possible nothing could come up yet again. “Alright, I will meet with him.” There was no need to linger on the probable disappointment. She stood as well, confident and assured. “Whatever we may or may not find about my past, we are still alive to make a future.” In a rare gesture, she reached for him, her hand lightly holding his arm. “I'm grateful for your help. I know I couldn't have made it this far without it.”

Aryon only returned her smile with his own, accepting her gratitude. “You have helped me nearly as much yourself. This past year has been an exciting and productive one, and I do hope there will be more.”

“So do I.” Deep down, she knew there would be so much more yet to come, Nerevarine prophecies aside. What was down the road, however, would be far more than either of them had bargained for.

 


	8. Chapter 8

During the nights that followed came dream after dream, and now was no exception. She was in a room that could have been somewhere in Mournhold, based on the design. Almalexia and Vivec were there, along with who she somehow knew to be Sotha Sil. She had never seen so much as a picture of the man, but she knew him. He felt like a trusted friend, just like the other three. They were discussing something of great importance, but the words were not heard. Vivec held out a Dwemer gauntlet, its make unique and peculiar. It seemed magical in nature, a soft glow radiating from it. In this dream she couldn't smell its magic. Sotha Sil showed them an equally magical and oddly crafted hammer, also seemingly of Dwemer make though it was hard to tell with its unique shape.

Almalexia said something, and she felt herself move to hand over a dagger of glass and metal, feeling loath to give it even to her. Surely she could be trusted. All of them had the best of intentions. These tools would never be used again. It was a promise. Almalexia leaned forward and smiled, but the smile somehow looked cold, distant. She leaned forward to kiss the dream self, her lips tasting of luminous russula and violet coprinus. _Poison. Poison candles, poisoned minds, death._

Aryon woke in the middle of the night to Laje-tal moving in her sleep, hissing at an unknown entity. He looked across the nook with a worried frown. This would be seven nights in a row now that she had these ongoing dreams, but she hadn't thrashed enough to wake him until now. He reached out to shake her leg to try to wake her, but she jerked away at the contact. Her feet still had very, very sharp claws and he mentally berated himself for trying something so crazy. Instead, he moved forward to grab her shoulder, shaking her again. “Laje-tal, wake up.” Wherever her mind was, she seemed too far away to hear him, so he shook both shoulders harder. She suddenly scrambled in his grip, waking violently, her startled eyes widening in fear. He pinned her down to keep her from hurting either of them in her confusion. “Laje-tal, it's me! It's just me. You were dreaming.”

It took a moment for her to wake fully, looking up at him with recognition. “Aryon? Oh, thank the Gods.” She was still shaking, her voice strained. “It was so real, just like all the others. It was terrifying. I don't dare try to sleep and go back there.”

“It's alright.” Aryon reached for a pitcher of water he kept nearby, pouring her a glass. “Here, you look parched.” He held it out patiently until she took it, downing the glass in only a few large gulps. Why did this keep happening? What could be done for it? She looked downright starved for moisture, he found himself thinking. “I think we'd best go outdoors for a bit. You've been away from the sun and sea too long. I think I have too, for that matter.”

Laje-tal set aside her empty glass. It sounded like a good idea, but they had an obligation. “We agreed to stay here.”

“We agreed not to leave the area. Fyr won't mind it as long as we stay close, if he even cares at all to notice. If we've gone this long without the disease flaring up again, I doubt it will. A swim should do you some good.”

“I suppose.” She sat forward, her head aching. Thank goodness Aryon had woken her up. Her mind still swam with the terror and pain she had witnessed. Slowly she rose, following his lead. He paced quietly through the caverns, noticing that only Yagrum was awake. No doubt the old Dwemer had been here so long that his sense of time was nonexistent. Aryon let Yagrum know where they were going, and they hastily pressed on through the upper levels and into the outer grounds of the Tel.

Overhead, both moons were full, their bold light pale over the shore and sparkling amid the gentle waves of the sea. Just the clean, salty air was refreshing and she heard Aryon sigh with relief. He approached the shore, watching the waves. “You know, I think I'll have a swim too. I'm sure I smell about as good as a bull Kagouti by now.”

She grinned. “I'll wait for you. Upwind.” With that she turned around, offering what little privacy could be had out here in the open. The warm breeze off the sea was soothing, and she took a deep breath of it. The simple catharsis of the open sky and vast horizon was enough to make the lingering feelings of the dream fade away. Being kept in the corprusarium was nearly as bad as that horrible glass mine.

“Alright, I'm in.”

Laje-tal turned, seeing he was neck deep already and facing away. She removed her clothing and set it near his, then waded in equally deep. The water was cool enough for comfort without being overly cold, the current barely moving. She took a moment to slip entirely under, coming back up with a grateful sigh. “You know, you're right, I needed this.”

He moved around to face her, head tilted slightly, puzzled. “I know, though I don't know how I knew it.”

She regarded him with a small smile. “You always seem to know.”

Aryon looked away again, conflicted. How had he known? How had he been able to read her? Argonians were notoriously hard to read, yet he understood even her small nuances. It had been so very rare for him to understand anyone even a little. “I've always been alone,” he said quietly, finding himself telling her something he had never told a soul.”I may have had my family, other colleagues, mentors and people all around me, but in the end I was by myself. I was sent away to study as soon as I could read, and never even saw any of the other students because we all studied alone. That was the Telvanni way, and I thought it was normal. I never thought I would feel lonely.” He turned back just enough to look at her, his expression oddly vulnerable. “I think, though, that I will be when you leave.”

A strange feeling she couldn't name passed through her when she saw Aryon's open uncertainty, his willingness to share something so personal hitting a place in her heart she didn't know she had. In spite of him having a free life with a family in a land that welcomed him, he had been isolated, even more than herself. She found herself reaching back for his hand, linking her fingers with his. “I am here,” she responded, relieved when he returned her grip. “I will put in a teleportation rune in my stronghold to link with yours. You're welcome to bother me any time you need me.”

He relaxed, reassured by her plain acceptance. “If we really are immortal, I may need you for a long time.”

“Then I will be here. I might visit Mournhold again if I'm released from exile, but this is my home now. I don't intend to go anywhere.” She chuckled. “You're forgiven, by the way.”

“For what?”

“When you picked me up, you said you hoped I could forgive you. It's alright.” Her gaze returned to the moons overhead, looking at their pocked surfaces. “You smelled like wood ash and black anther.”

Aryon laughed. “I'll have you know that potions of light are a good source of income!”

She released her hold to swim away, grinning back at him. “Light potions won't help you swim better. Come on, let's go farther out.”

He hesitated, wary of the unknown depth of the waters ahead. “You know I'm not a strong swimmer.”

Her hand found his again, tugging him forth to follow, eyes sparkling with joy. “You won't drown with an Argonian by your side. Stay close.” They moved out into the deeper water, burning off the remaining tension in the exercise. For a while all was calm, the night passing steadily onward. When sleep finally came, it was filled with silence, the dreams held at bay at last.

 

* * *

Laje-tal laid down on her bed with a grateful sigh, glad to be back in Tel Vos. She had missed being in her own bed, and she found herself amused that she thought of this little place as hers, now. The first stage of her stronghold was finished, and the second stage was on its way, but she still felt like her little borrowed room was a sort of home. As much as she tried to sleep, however, she couldn't help but be restless. What had happened earlier that day left her with several confounding things to think about.

Returning to the Tel had been as simple as using the same teleportation rune they arrived on, back in a burst of magic. Eddie had been thoroughly relieved and excited to have them back, handing back control as soon as he could. He was competent, but he hated being in charge. Most of the morning had gone on as it usually had, albeit with catching up on work from the past several days. Laje-tal also had to compile all of the notes she had written about the Dwemer tools she had seen in her dreams and what Yagrum had to say about them. That wouldn't cover everything else she had asked, either. With all of that work, there was no reason to be down in the museum. Aryon needed her help yet again with the steam centurion, however, and so it was.

What hadn't been expected was getting a very sudden, unannounced visit from Arch-Magister Gothren himself. There had been no warning except the sudden smell of teleportation magic, and an unfamiliar scent at that. Laje-tal had barely enough time to curse and escape the area, leaving Aryon and the others to stare after her in confusion while Gothren popped into the room. She had spared a moment to see who had entered and she knew she couldn't use her illusion on this one. An Arch-Magister would certainly be able to see through her disguise. No, she would have to go for the much more mundane way, and headed to her room and storage closet. She pulled out the maid clothes she had salvaged from some Nord's wardrobe, kept around for just this occasion.

Laje-tal struggled into the dress as fast as she dared, taking care not to rip it apart with her horns. The neck was wide enough to slip over readily enough, and she tied about it the accompanying apron. Narrow sleeves lay low past her shoulders and around her upper arms, the cut of the bodice too low for her preference but enough to remain adequately covered. She hadn't added an opening for her tail and let the dress cover it, knowing her distinct pattern would be too easy to identify. From her pack she pulled out a dark brown oily polish, often used to shine shoes, rubbing the substance into the red streaks on her face and over her neck, the scales dyed to match the rest of her. A small pot of yellow cosmetics came next, and she added a few typical markings to her head and neck. Yes, this was enough to make her look different, especially to an ignorant Dunmer.

She turned about to look at herself, checking that all was in place. It wouldn't do for a noble maid to badly represent her employer. Last of all came the jewelry, which she had hoarded from numerous cavern raids. Rings decorated her horns, a nearly gaudy gold and red pendant at her neck. Honestly she felt silly adorning herself like this after so many years of keeping things simple and plain, but she brought herself back to the present. Time for the cover-up. From her bed and storage, she gathered all of her books and research on Nerevar, drawing out a teleportation rune in plain chalk and setting them within it. She sent it and a quick note on to the safest place she could think of – Caius Cosades' house. After all, she had to go back there anyway. It was better than risking Gothren of all people finding her research. Other things were left behind, books on spellcraft, alchemy and mathematics. If Aryon was as canny as she expected him to be, he would say this was Lenassa's room, and Lenassa would certainly have these kinds of things around.

In a whirl she was out, stopping by the kitchens to raid the store room for a spare tray and selection of drinks, arranging them just so on the tray and hurrying to the museum, setting the tray on a nearby table. She positioned herself just behind and to one side of Gothren as he ranted at length about his suspicions of bribery in the town, her eyes lowered. Eye contact between herself and that sort of man was out of the question. She could feel attention being drawn to herself by the others in the room, but couldn't tell what they thought of her new look. All she could do was listen as Gothren waxed eloquent about whatever irked him so much.

“Enough of this, where is that damned Argonian woman? I know quite well you keep one here!”

Aryon, still stunned by this sudden turn of events, only gestured behind the man to Laje-tal. “She's right behind you, sir.”

Shocked by her silent entry he nearly jumped, turning around to regard her with a scowl. “I don't mean your harlot of a maid! Where is the woman who thinks herself the Nerevarine?”

Laje-tal's blood suddenly ran cold. How had he known about that? She had been very careful not to share her research with anyone in the tower except Eddie and Aryon. Every time she left Vos, she changed her clothing and demeanor while completing the tasks to investigate the prophecies. All of her books had been kept under lock, her research stashed away. There was nothing to link the Argonian seeking the Nerevarine prophecies to Vos. She had made sure of that. Aryon took a moment to reply. “I don't understand. There are only two Argonians who reside in this tower, and the other is this man behind me. She is the only Argonian woman who is in Vos.”

Gothren gave Laje-tal a second glance, as if just looking at her made him sick. She didn't have the red streaks under her eyes as if she were crying blood, nor the rusty colored neck. Her eyes were still lowered, accepting his harsh nature passively. This one didn't look or act like the woman described to him. “I have it on very good authority that you have an Argonian woman here with a different coloration who contracted corprus and was cured and, might I add, was seen having a very interesting night with you! That is who I am looking for, not this plaything of yours!”

How? How could he have... She froze. _Vistha-Kai_. He must have reported her to Gothren. There was nobody else who would have done such a thing. Fyr didn't care what she did, and Yagrum was a friend. The others minded their business. Vistha-Kai, however, had gone on at length about her not being a proper Argonian, how she wasn't doing things in their way, how she was perverting their kind by being a Telvanni councilor. _Oh Gods!_ Had he been outside when they were taking a swim? She barely managed to hold down her panic as Aryon continued. “Look around if you want, but you will find no other Argonians here. I don't know where you get this ridiculous information of yours but you can see for yourself if you must.”

“I will! I'm certain you're hiding something. Everyone in town agrees there is an Argonian woman here who has been helping your cause in this town. Closed-lipped, all of them, but I'm sure of it! Where is she?”

“She is the one, sir.” Inside, his blood boiled. Gothren had been pestering the residents! He may well have threatened them! Oh, he was going to look into the tower, what if he found Laje-tal's research? Briefly her eyes locked with his and she gave a subtle nod. Well, that was good, at least. “Please, do take a look around if it will assure you of the facts. Question my maid, she will tell you she has been through the town on my orders.”

Gothren turned around to look at her again, seeming like the notion hadn't even occurred to him. “Indeed. You, maid. What do they call you?”

She kept her eyes lowered, nodding demurely. “Xil-heedra, Arch-Magister.” Did Smokeskin just grin at her behind Gothren? Well, she had picked a particularly silly fake name, but Gothren wouldn't know that.

His scowl only deepened at her use of a traditional Argonian name, rather than a more Cyrodiilic common tongue name. “Right. What are your duties here? Are you a member of the Telvanni?”

Ever gracious, she bowed deeper. “I am but a lowly hireling, Muthsera, but yes. Master Aryon charges me with the linens, cleaning and other services. As he said, I am often sent to town on his orders. Someone of my stature couldn't possibly be the Nerevarine. Besides, that is but a silly Ashlander story.”

“Silly!” He suddenly slapped her hard across the face, but Laje-tal bore it. She'd had worse, but she hoped Aryon wouldn't interfere. “Nerevar Indoril was a mighty general and Hortator, who held together the houses under one of the worst wars in history! Such as you can't even comprehend what he means to our people! I should lash you for that insult!”

Aryon stepped closer, cautious, hands out to placate the man. “That's not necessary, sir. She is only a mere Argonian servant, she doesn't know any better.”

Gothren shot him a murderous look. “What does it matter? These things can't feel pain. Woman, where is the Argonian who claims to be the Nerevarine and a high ranking Telvanni?”

Affecting her best look of fear and Argonian accent, she waved her hands nervously in defense. “Xil-heedra does not know, venerable Arch-Magister! She only knows her kitchen and broom!”

Another slap, much harder this time. “Answer me, wretch! Where is the Argonian woman with red markings under her eyes and a rust colored neck?”

She cowered, arms protecting her face. “Please, stop this! I know nothing of the woman you seek!”

“Bah! You're as useless as the townsfolk! Neloth also told me of an Argonian by that description who came here to have lessons on enchanting. Who is this woman and where is she?”

Aryon, now in a slight panic, tried to do what he could to stop this. He knew Laje-tal was probably acting, but she was still being harmed! “Oh, her!” He moved back with a hum, seemingly in thought. He couldn't be caught showing concern for Laje-tal, no one of his standing would care for a lowly Argonian maid. “You know, I do remember her, now that I think of it. She was here for a while, I can't believe I actually forgot about her. Yes, she's gone, actually. She learned all I could teach her about enchanting and she left. A very strange one, she was. Always going on and on about some Altmer man she used to train under. Very annoying.”

Laje-tal used the slight distraction to catch Smokeskin's eyes, whispering to him in Jel. “Get the other guards, he won't leave easily.”

Another harsh slap came her way, knocking the air out of her. Gothren was red with rage. “I will not have that primitive tongue of yours spoken around me! Learn some respect for your betters!” Behind him she could just barely see that Smokeskin was gone. “I don't believe you when you say that woman is gone. My informant was very thorough in telling me all about how you were at Tel Fyr just yesterday, and how you two were having a wild tryst in the sea! I knew you were always a little off in the head, Aryon, but to fornicate with an Argonian!” he peered down his nose at Laje-tal. “Well now, perhaps your little maid here knows about that?”

Internally she stiffened, knowing quite well what may come next. All she could do was stand there and take it, and hope Aryon didn't try to come to her aid. He couldn't! It was too risky. If he tried to intervene, Gothren's point about his attachment to her would be proven. She shrank away. “Xil-heedra is innocent, she knows nothing more than her work!”

“Hah, I see through you, yes. You are a shapely little thing, no doubt you draw many heads around here. I wonder how many you had to service to get into this tower! Tell me where the false Incarnate is! Is it you? Are you the Argonian I seek?” He hit her hard, drawing blood. “Are you the one who thinks she can elevate herself beyond her station, to be uplifted into being equals with the Telvanni councilors?” Another hit, a solid punch, followed by him yanking her horns back roughly with one of his hands. “Hear it from me now, no one of your wretched kind will ever be uplifted in this house ever again! It was bad enough the first time, and I will not let such a thing happen again!”

There had been another? Another Argonian who had sought the upper ranks? Who? When? These thoughts were pushed aside when he yanked her back again. Aryon looked torn, not knowing what to do. He knew he couldn't intervene, but he had to do something! “Arch-Magister, I have need of all of my capable servants. I insist you don't harm her.”

Gothren spun around, fire in his eyes. “Oh? Do you hold some attachment to this one?” At this point Smokeskin returned with Drelan and three other guards. The other Argonian looked horrified at what Gothren was doing. “Does it bother you, Aryon, that I am causing harm to your whore?” He twisted on her horns, wrenching her head around like one would do to an unruly bull. Now that did indeed hurt, and she didn't have to fake her cry of pain.

Memories of her childhood came back to her in a surge, unwanted and unwelcome, times when she had been beaten senseless. She remembered the slave masters twisting the males about just like this, and any females who had horns long enough. It had looked painful, and now she knew just how true that assumption was. Her thoughts turned to the implements, the hot chains, the spiked flails, the shackles on the walls and heavy clubs. As brave as she was, the memory of a time when she had been too weak to fight back, too small, overcame her and she heard herself keen in agony. Thankfully Smokeskin had had enough, and rallied the guards to surround them. “Take your hands off her! How dare you grab an Argonian's horns in a place where we are free! Get out of here!”

Drelan and the others surrounded Gothren, who looked about himself, amused. “Well now this is most interesting indeed. Aryon, are you going to allow this beast to dictate what I do in this place?”

Aryon faced him with an icy stare, eyes narrowed dangerously. “I told you not to harm my servants. It doesn't matter whether they are beastfolk or not, all in Tel Vos are necessary. Leave. Now.”

With several spears pressed to his face and neck, he seemed to decide he was bored with this little game and backed away, hands up and heading for the door. “Yes, well, perhaps we shall see. You had best watch your back. You may have won for now but we will see who wins in the end.” In a burst of magic he was gone, leaving the guards looking grim and nervous.

Aryon rushed to Laje-tal's side, inspecting the damage. She was hurt badly, her face bruised and bloodied, the skin near her horns swollen. “Damn him. Smokeskin, would you come back with me? I need your expertise on this sort of wound.”

The man followed after without question, the two leading Laje-tal into a far empty room, having her sit on the floor. Smokeskin inspected her horns under the bright light, growling at the sight. “She'll be hurting for a while but it's not the worst I've seen. He didn't manage to break any of her horns. I wouldn't mind breaking his face.”

“You'll have to get in line.” His hands glowed golden with restoration magic, laid gently on her face to heal away the worst of the cuts and bruises. Her eyes were far away, though, glazed over with pain and something else. “Laje-tal, are you alright?” She only curled in on herself, and he tilted her head up to face him. He looked into her golden eyes, troubled by her vacant gaze.

“Past trauma,” Smokeskin said quietly, looking at her eyes as well. “I have seen that look in the eyes of many a former slave. We Argonians may often choose to not remember the past, but some of us are stricken with never being able to forget. Let her be. She'll get better in time with some rest.”

“Oh, by Azura, what can I do?” Ignoring Smokeskin's advice he held her face in a way that had nothing to do with healing, brushing his thumb against her angular scaled cheek. “This has gone too far. Come on now, Laje-tal. You're not a slave in that horrid place anymore.”

Slowly her hands came up to lay over his, her eyes clearing as she smiled up at him. “Aryon...”

“Thank the Gods, you're alright.” He returned to healing her, looking down with a relieved smile. The pain of being unable to stop Gothren, having to watch her be manhandled and not being able to do a thing, had been downright unbearable. It was then he was unable to deny it. He cared about her deeply, and wasn't about to let something like this happen again. Such was his devotion to his task that he didn't even notice when Smokeskin slipped away, the man looking after them with a confused, uncertain gaze.

Presently Laje-tal rolled over yet again in her bed, remembering the events with a frown. If she thought about it, she could still feel his warm hands on her face, how she had covered them with her own. She couldn't sleep. At a loss she rose, pulling her Telvanni robes on and heading into the library. Maybe she could read herself into sleep. Where was that book on Imperial protocol? That always seemed to put her right out. What she hadn't expected was to find Aryon already there, on the floor near the fire with an open book in his lap. His sharp red eyes darted up to meet hers, softening with the smile that broke across his lips. “Couldn't sleep either?” she asked.

“Not one bit. I added an extra spell to the tower defenses, it will keep anyone from teleporting here except you, Eddie and Fyr. I'm guessing you came to the same conclusion I did,” he added with a scowl. “Vistha-Kai told Gothren everything! He must have been trying to sabotage your position here in the house. I know he has always been very proper but I never thought he would stoop so low as to try to have you removed. You are one of the best damned Telvanni I've ever known, and he of all people should have understood what it meant for you to progress in the house.”

“I just don't understand,” she said quietly. “I tried to do my best. I could overlook the fact that he looked like Mular-Da. I was so very sorry for what I said to him, and I did truly want to know more about my kind from him. What could I have done to make him want to do this? I know I'm terrible at being who he expected me to be, but I can't be anyone but myself.”

His lips pursed in another bothered frown. Vistha-Kai had never been much of an intellectual, and had often done odd things to maintain order. Nearly getting one of his kind, and a higher ranking Telvanni to boot, nearly beaten to death was a new one. “Well you aren't Lenassa, thank the Gods. You are my protege, a ranking member in this house. I know you, and I know your race won't keep you from moving forward. Don't let people like him influence you into being what you aren't.”

That reminded her of something, and she sat down on the rug across from him, leaning back against a nearby chair comfortably. “Gothren commented about another Argonian advancing in the house. I'm not the first?”

“I thought you were but when he said that I remembered a rumor Dratha told me. She said that once, when Therana was still sane, an Argonian was taken from slavery to be her hireling and a mage. It sounded silly and I forgot all about it. It must be true, though, if Gothren said something like that.” His eyes flicked down, averted. “I am so sorry you had to endure him. I couldn't do anything to help you without compromising our situation. I wanted to. I couldn't... never mind. I know that you know I had no choice. I don't know why I'm saying this.”

Her tail flicked slightly to idly tap against his leg, laying across it just as she had done in Tel Fyr. “I know. I had hoped you wouldn't fall for his ploy. I wouldn't have been all that bothered if he hadn't made me remember some very unpleasant things that had happened in the mine. Those were the sorts of things that come back to you at the worst of times. I'm alright, really. It would take a lot more than that to break me.”

“Laje-tal...” He sighed, setting aside his book to come closer, straddling her legs to inspect her face. The swelling seemed to have gone down, though she still had several bruises showing a dark black between her facial scales. He eased restoration magic into the affected area, the soft glow adding faint light to the corner. His insides tensed when one of her hands again laid over his, her trusting eyes looking up into his own. Strangely he felt drawn forward, leaning closer into her touch. It should have felt so very, very wrong and yet his otherwise vocal conscience had gone silent. By now the magic had stopped, and the hand not covered by hers traveled down her neck, feeling the rampant pulse that raced underneath.

Laje-tal went still. This was dangerous. She understood the sudden surge of emotions that threatened to overcome her sensibilities. After all they had been through, despite the adversity, she recognized the love that had arisen from the depths of her heart. Damn it all, but she loved him. She couldn't let him throw everything away, she loved him too much. “Don't do this,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Your reputation is already on the edge of a cliff as it is.”

He huffed. “It's always been that way.” Leaning forward he pressed his brow to hers, eyes closed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” She put her hands on his shoulders, however, and pushed back slightly. “You should, though. There will be no peace until Gothren is dead. When that happens...” Her eyes opened, looking back into his, feeling the familiar pang in her chest at his desperate look. “When that happens, perhaps there can be a chance.”

Aryon seemed to accept her logic, drawing away with a sad but hopeful smile. He understood what she meant. There would be no end to Gothren's harassment until he was gone, and there was no telling what the other councilors would do. Her place on the council was now very tenuous and could be upset at any moment. They couldn't afford to slip up right now. “Then I will give you the one last task there is before I can name you a Magister. There are two new councilors, one Hlaalu and one Redoran, who built their strongholds without approval from the Duke. I'll write up a list of where they are. If you take care of them, I will declare you a Magister.”

She slowly rose to her feet, the distance between them back to where it should be. “Consider it already done.”

 

* * *

 

Laje-tal had been gone for a long time. Everyone had noticed, and even Eddie had started to look concerned. She had sent letters, certainly, but over a week had passed now with nothing. Aryon stewed over his notes on a book at his desk with a scowl, Eddie nearby rifling through even more notes to find what they were looking for. Drelan lingered nearby, all guards now on alert after Gothren's invasive entry. Aryon tucked a bookmark in a nearby large tome for later. “Still nothing?”

Eddie flung a hand up in dismay, not looking up from the notes. “No. She's probably in a place where she can't send notes. Might be too dangerous. I'll bet she's trying to cover her tracks even on our end to keep from being caught. I spent a long time with the You-Know-Who and I can tell you there were many times I had to do the same thing.”

He knew exactly what Eddie was talking about. The Twin Lamps. There would have definitely been many times where sending a note would lead someone right to the sender. “Yes, I suppose.”

Across from him Eddie looked on discreetly, observing Aryon's demeanor. After the rather interesting things Smokeskin had told him, he was curious about the possible turn in Aryon's perception of his protege. It was all suspicion, of course, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't have much time to consider that as Laje-tal suddenly recalled into the room, looking worn and distant. He moved to greet her, but saw the look on her face and instead gestured her to sit down. “Gods, Laje-tal, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

She managed a slight laugh, sitting down at the table wearily. “This is Morrowind, Eddie, there are ghosts everywhere. You wouldn't believe what I've just been through. I went to Vivec to free a dissident priest from the Temple Ministry, went to a whole monastery full of them and received quite a few of the lost prophecies about Nerevar. Went through Kogoruhn... don't do that, by the way. Then... well.” She placed her left hand on the table, a clearly new ring showing plain and clear. It was the moon and star. Nerevar's ring. “I don't know why I did it. The ring is said to kill anyone who isn't Nerevar, yet all I could think of was how I needed to do it, how it felt like I was meant to have this. It was reckless, stupid even, but I had no hesitation. I knew I could do it.”

Shocked, Eddie turned pale. “By Azura!”

“By Azura indeed,” Aryon stated, looking at the ring. It glowed with enchantment, pulsing softly. That ring was no forgery, it was the real Daedric artifact. She was the true Incarnate. “You're the Nerevarine.”

Laje-tal shook her head, barely meeting his gaze. She was still uncertain how to go back to the way things were after what had happened between them. “Not officially. I have to be named the Nerevarine by the four tribes of Ashlanders, as well as be declared Hortator by the three Great Houses. The ring not rejecting me is only one part of this. I also took care of the illegal strongholds. The way is clear for House Telvanni to take control.”

Their eyes locked, and he could see the hurt and anguish within. He'd had a long time to consider how he felt, and suspected his own look matched hers. He had missed her insight, her kind smile, even their arguments over magical theory. Mostly he missed just having someone he could talk to candidly without being slandered to the four corners of the isle. It didn't even matter in that moment that she had just come back as the Nerevarine. She was here all the same. “Then I will not hesitate to name you Magister. You have done everything and more that a Master of the Telvanni could be expected to do. I will draw up the needed forms and you can present them to Gothren.” He smiled just the slightest bit. “I also expect you to give him that left hook of yours.”

When she laughed, the tension eased. “He will get more than that, I promise. Blast it, I'd better write to Barenziah. She will want to know about my progress. Caius has been recalled to the Imperial City, so I'm on my own now. Someone from the Mages Guild came to me, by the way, and asked some very interesting questions about you. He won't be coming around again.”

Curious, his brows raised. “A Mages Guild affiliate? Why? You killed him?”

“I didn't intend to until he asked for your schedule and your habits. I found a note on him from the Arch-Mage Trebonius, the idiot was going to assassinate the Telvanni Councilors! That know-nothing didn't even make it past me. If I can manage those stupid Dark Brotherhood assassins, I can manage the likes of him.”

“The Dark Brotherhood!” Eddie exclaimed. “In Vvardenfell? I know we heard about the Brotherhood in Mournhold but all the way out here? They were after you? When?”

“Well, that's why I didn't respond for a week,” she said wearily. “I had to throw them off my scent. I made a point to leave pieces of their armor where the Morag Tong would find it, along with a copy of the contract I found on their bodies. They'll be busy with the Tong and shouldn't bother me for a while now, but I will have to find out who is sending them after me. My money is on Helseth, given the contract was signed with an H. No doubt Barenziah will be very interested to hear that, too. She might also be able to get them off my back, but we'll see.”

“Gods, Laje-tal, how you've managed to have such an insane life is beyond me. I'm considering going off on more missions with the you-know-who just to get away from all of this!”

She chuckled. “I won't stop you if you do, but do remember that you're my Mouth now and I will still need your help with Tel Uvirith. Once I take care of Gothren, things are going to be very different. We'll need to set a steward to manage the place, transfer documents, sort materials, all sorts of things! You'd better not leave me to do that by myself!”

“I won't, I won't!”

Aryon rose, heading to a nearby cabinet where he kept most spare documents. He removed a sheaf of them, setting one page out from the rest. “Present this to anyone in Tel Aruhn who inquires on your business there. Gothren might just decide to not act against you at all, forcing you to make the next move. I trust you will find a way to not incur a bounty.” This was it. After all the setbacks, the careful planning, the studying and scheming, it was time to remove Gothren as the Arch-Magister. “Gothren won't go down easily, but you might be able to use his habits against him. He loves to talk during a battle, and will go on for some time to goad the other person into responding. You being an Argonian will be an advantage since he will expect little from you.” He laid down the rest of the papers, signing his place on the necessary lines. When finished he looked up at her, firm and resolute. “I'd advise to not use magic at first.”

She nodded, already considering her options. “I was thinking that as well. The more I lure him into thinking I have little magical skill, the more careless he will become. I have a couple plant seeds I stashed away for this, and a few roots. He will never expect high level plant manipulation. I have a few ideas.” With a wave she enchanted the paper she was to present with a ward against flame and water damage, stashing it away in her satchel. “Very well. I will depart just after first light and go on to Tel Aruhn.”

Aryon rose when she did, looking at her tired form with concern. “You should rest for a few days before heading out. I don't doubt you're exhausted after all of this.”

“I am, but my magic is building up again. By morning I'll be well on my way to being overly full. There is no better time than this, and I'd hate to wait any longer and give Gothren more time to make his move. I've delayed enough as it is.” When she saw his tense lips, his furrowed brows, she stepped closer to him, giving him a reassuring nod. “I wouldn't do this if I weren't sure of it. Please trust me on this.”

He nodded in return. Yes, he trusted her discretion and her confidence in her abilities. She had always been a strategist, one who thought carefully about everything she did. Deep down, she did have the heart of a Telvanni. “I will trust you.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not really intend at first to have another OC take a significant part in this story, but it somehow happened. I also didn't really expect a M/M pairing to happen either, but for some reason I ended up writing one. I really don't know how that happened. I'll be sure to change the story description and such but I'm not getting rid of it. I will keep everything T-rated unless I get comments asking for more.
> 
> * * *

Laje-tal woke early, packing away everything she would need. A newly enchanted amulet was part of it, something she had been working on for some time now. It rendered her entirely incapable of casting magic and suppressed her overflowing magicka from being released. Originally it had been meant as a fail-safe for a time that her magic might be impossible to drain away or if she were in a situation too dangerous to do so. Now, it would keep her from casting magic until the time was right in the battle. Right now her magicka was too full to hold back without it. She proudly wore her Telvanni council robes, not stashing them away as she usually did, her moon and star ring plain for all to see. There would be no more hiding, no more covering up.

She hadn't expected Aryon to be awake and waiting to see her off, but he stood there at his desk near the library entrance, eyes on her as she entered. When he neared, she stayed as she was, uncertain. So much had happened over the past year, she still wasn't sure how to make sense of it all. The time away from the Tel, when not filled with fighting Sixth House monstrosities and the Dark Brotherhood, had helped settle her thoughts. She needed to handle this professionally for both of them. “I will be leaving now.”

Aryon came close, looking across the short span of air and feeling the slight tension that still separated them. He understood why she was reticent, perhaps even afraid, of his attentions. Briefly he worried that he had gone too far, influenced by the sudden realization of what had managed to happen between them. “I'm sorry if I did something untoward,” he said quietly, resisting the urge to reach for her. “I should have considered-” He paused when she shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

“There's nothing to apologize for.” She came the slightest bit closer, a hand resting on his arm. “I have always been forthright with you. If there had been anything untoward, I would have said so. We were caught up in all that has been going on around us, it's understandable that things could get out of hand. We might have said or done some things we shouldn't have, and if you want to forget about it, let it be ash in the wind.”

“I can't do that.” Aryon's eyes held a rare candor, the conflict plain in his open gaze. “I tried. I kept telling myself while you were gone that it was nothing, that I should go on as if it never happened. I couldn't. There shouldn't have been such indiscretion, but I find that I can't forget about it.”

That feeling in her chest was back again with a vengeance, just when she thought she had tamped it down firmly. This couldn't happen. There was just too much at stake right now. Everything they had worked for was on the line, it couldn't be ruined by misplaced feelings. A small thought came to her, making her reconsider. What if his feelings, too, were genuine? Was it possible? She thought back on all that had transpired, every fond glance, every gentle touch. Confused, she backed away slightly, an unfamiliar warmth coursing through her blood. It was just like the stories she heard several of the men in the caravan tell, especially the indiscreet and bawdy Nords. “I... I need to go.” Aryon looked so worried, so afraid, but she couldn't do more than edge away from him. She needed time to think.

So quick was her escape that he lost her after she exited the library, and he slumped against a shelf in defeat. He wasn't at all prepared for the voice that came out behind him. “Well that was badly handled.”

Aryon turned to see Smokeskin standing at casual attention near the doorway, brushing away a bit of dirt from his glass armor. “Wha- What are you doing here?”

He leaned against the wall, tail flicking against the door frame. “Guarding you, of course. You put me here on first shift, remember? After the whole Gothren incident?”

“Oh, Gods.” He pinched his brow, a headache already threatening to form. The man had heard _everything._ “I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do.”

“What is there to explain?” he asked, crossing his blue-scaled arms. “You tried to court a woman and, as a wise man once said, I don't think she understands the meaning behind such a gesture. Then again, perhaps she understands too well.” His green eyes were calm but filled with a shadow of darkness that never seemed to go completely away, even when telling his finest tales. “I am called Smokeskin-Killer for a reason. I have killed many Dark Elves, all in the name of freedom. I have seen the worst of the mines and plantations, you can't comprehend what she has been through if you haven't been through that hell yourself. To have that only compounded further by having to fear her fellow slaves and the men who wanted to have their ways with her, well, it's no wonder she ran off. I doubt she's ever had any good come to her besides Eddie watching over her as he has.”

Aryon regarded the man with surprise. He knew he had mentioned Laje-tal's past enslavement during the incident with Gothren, but he hadn't expected Smokeskin to be so informed. “You sure seem to know quite a bit about this.”

With a proud grin Smokeskin stood tall, sharp teeth gleaming. “I know everything that goes on around here. Everything.”

His brow raised curiously. “Everything?”

“Oh yes. Did you know that Drelan collects different types of candles? No? Andil has a habit of checking the lock of his door twice before leaving his quarters, Cidius puts a septim under his pillow, and Eddie? He has been having secret meetings with a blind Altmer in the Twin Lamps. Laje-tal goes out to the farming fields once a week to help the farmers grow their crops and burn off magic. Oh, and then there's you, of course!”

Despite the gravity of his situation, he couldn't help but want to know. “Me? What is so interesting about me?”

“Besides trying to court one of my fellow marsh-kin? Where do I start?” Smokeskin sat down on a nearby bench, head tilted back in thought. “You always pace before you sleep, stir your tea precisely three times before you attempt to drink it, and you always leave that book about Daedric artifacts on the table when you're done with it instead of putting it away. Laje-tal always finds it and puts it back for you.”

Aryon found himself laughing at the extent of his observations, sitting across from the Argonian on a nearby chair. “Alright, I admit it, you quite possibly know everything.” He also had to admit that Smokeskin's humor was a relief. “It's funny, I didn't think this conversation would go in this direction. I was worried you might have some choice words to say.”

“What, because I was once interested?” He scoffed. “That went right out the window as soon as she said Dwemer! By my egg can that woman go on at length about magic, never mind relics! It's maddening!” With a sigh he removed his bracers, stretching out his hands. Aryon could see that his wrists were just as worn and scarred as Laje-tal's. “It's strange, I should also be mad at you for being a Dark Elf pursuing an Argonian, but I'm not.”

He looked at the deep marks, the rough scales, knowing what it meant. “You were a slave too?”

“Indeed, Laje-tal and I actually have had a very similar path, you know. I had my family, though, and we were saved by the Twin Lamps. We were turned over to some Imperials, and I went to Cyrodiil while the others went back to the marsh. They saw I was good with a blade and trained me as a knight. As for why I'm here, well...” His lips twisted in a wry smirk. “As I said, I know everything that goes on, including some very interesting things about the Emperor. It might have been very sensitive information, and I might have thought a Dark Brotherhood contract or ten was on my head. This is, of course, speculation.”

A brow raised suspiciously. “Of course. I also speculate that if you came upon information that was necessary to the preservation of my tower or my person, you would think to tell someone about it.”

Smokeskin laughed, reaching briefly to clap him on the shoulder. “Hah, that's why I can't be mad at you! You Telvanni understand these things! Fear not, I will continue my quest to know even more than Drelan does! I have a lot of catching up to do!”

“Blast it all, what am I going to do...” He leaned onto his hand, forehead on his palm. As hard as he tried, he couldn't think of a way to mend things.

“If you can't have a good talk, have a good fight.”

“What?”

Rising to his feet Smokeskin shrugged, pulling his bracers back over his arms. “She's a battlemage! If you can't get her to talk, get her to throw a punch!” He mimed a few punches in the air for dramatic emphasis. “Now if you don't mind, I'm going outside. I want to be well out of earshot when she comes back!”

Aryon chuckled, waving him off. “Oh, go rot!”

 

* * *

Laje-tal faced one of Gothren's many tower inhabitants, Endase Avel. She had met the woman a few times and they exchanged civil pleasantries, though after what was about to happen it was anyone's guess if things would stay civil. “I do hope you can pardon me, but I must speak with the Arch-Magister.”

“You can try,” Endase said, “but as you know, he will just delay an answer on anything as long as he can. You're much better off asking his Mouth.”

She removed the paper stating her challenge from her satchel, presenting it with a slight flourish. “I do believe my business involves the Arch-Magister specifically.”

Her eyes widened when she looked over the sheet. “Magister! Hah! Well, Laje-tal, I never expected that one! I won't try to stop you.” With a shifty look Endase leaned close, whispering. “Give him a good kick in the seat for me, would you? That bastard tried to grope me the other day!”

“Gladly.” With grave purpose she strode up the stairs into Gothren's study, the man slumped in his chair and reading a heavy, thick book. A shame he wouldn't finish it. Two Dremora guards stood nearby, their red glowing eyes watching her as she approached. Laje-tal's eyes narrowed as she looked down at him, turning cold when he finally noticed she was there. He regarded her with a scowl as she spoke. “I heard you have been looking for me.”

Gothren took in the appearance of the Argonian that dared approach him, seeing that she matched perfectly with the description of the one he had been trying so hard to find. Yes, it was her, Telvanni robes and all. His prey had delivered herself right to his doorstep! He had to be careful, though, to not appear too interested. “So I have. You are the one who claims to be the Nerevarine and a Telvanni councilor! Pah! What do you want? Can't you see I'm in the middle of reading? I don't have time to kill you right now.”

She impassively presented her paper of intent, her stance unwavering. “By the right of one who has been declared Magister, I hereby challenge you to a formal honorable duel for your title.” By now Endase and a couple others had gathered near the stairs, witnessing her challenge. Good. She needed witnesses.

The man only waved her off impatiently, going back to his reading with a huff. “Nonsense. Get out of here!”

“I have the proper documentation. I know you never bother to read these things, but-” Abruptly Gothren launched a ball of fire at her hand, straight to the paper. She didn't flinch, the unscathed document still held in place. “Oh come now, you should know that no mage leaves official papers flammable.”

For a moment he analyzed the situation, seeing she did indeed have a form declaring her a Magister. Aryon's doing, naturally. Well, maybe he would pay that man a visit when this pawn of his was taken care of. Briefly he went over all he knew on this peculiar Argonian who had apparently breezed through the ranks without more than a handful of people knowing. She didn't carry a wizard's staff, her magic was known to be loud and showy, and she was rumored to have been sent from Mournhold. It wasn't much information. He slumped down further, annoyed. “Bah, try to strike me down, I dare you! You'll be taken to prison for the rest of your miserable days!”

Unfortunately, Gothren had a point. If she struck him down as he was, unprovoked, she would certainly have a bounty on her head. As she looked at his Dremora guards, however, she came up with an idea. “It's not illegal to kill Daedra.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared over his book, clearly incensed. “You wouldn't dare!”

Out of a sheath she drew an enchanted sword, a tough glass longsword gleaming with frost. The nearest Dremora turned to face her and she feinted a punch with her right fist, forcing him backward. She blocked as he swung a heavy Dwemer axe in her direction, arcing the sword hard to the left to wrench him aside. The space they were in was too narrow for his axe and she used that to her advantage, coming too close for the axe to hit her with any amount of heft. From the other side the second Dremora took out a glass pike, aiming to hit her from a distance. She managed to dodge at an angle just sharp enough to make the second Dremora close in tighter, accidentally stabbing the first through the heart.

Laje-tal shoved the pommel of her sword into the ribs of the second Dremora, closing in on his limited range. A quick jab from her elbow landed straight at his face and broke his nose, a stomp from her foot aimed at the gaps in the armored boot beneath, bruising his instep. As he lurched forward in pain, she charged straight forward with her head, her sharp horns piercing the Dremora's throat. As the Dremora fell it was clear she had made her point. Gothren was downright fuming with anger, and she couldn't help but goad him on. “What do you say, Gothren? Want to try twisting my horns again?”

“You!” His face turned the most dangerous shade of red she had ever seen on a Dunmer, pointing a finger at her sharply. “I knew it! It was you! You blasted lizard! Fine, you want a duel with me, then? So be it! Get down to the plaza, I won't have your filthy reptilian blood staining my new rug!”

They ended up in the middle of town with a host of onlookers, every merchant, guard and commoner with a moment of time to spare gathering around to gawk at the fight. Gothren paced and stared at her from one end of the open area, all townsfolk giving them plenty of distance. Laje-tal took Gothren's moment of pacing to remove her long robes, leaving behind her tunic and pants. She didn't want to be encumbered by the long sleeves or flaps. Gothren made no move to take off his own purple and gold mage robes, and she made note of his neglect.

Gothren finally stopped pacing, brows furrowed, eyes on her cautious stance. “Well, come on then. Fight Aryon's fight for him, or whatever it is you think you're doing here!”

“This has nothing to do with Aryon,” she said firmly, tail lashing in anticipation. At last she put away her necklace, her pent up magicka flowing through her again. Her skin itched with the restrained energy and she resisted the urge to scratch herself. She wasted no time, summoning a winged twilight to her aid as she advanced, ice spell in hand. The winged twilight was a calculated distraction, summoned to give her time to observe her surroundings. Not many plants were around, so she would have to rely on no more than what she brought with her. Satisfied, she froze the ground around them with her ice magic, landing another burst on her summoned Daedra. Gothren seemed startled that she would harm her own Daedra, and directed a fire spell at the frozen incoming beast.

Talons digging into the slippery ice under her feet, Laje-tal charged, aiming her sword to cleave her winged twilight in two as the fiery burst from Gothren covered her action. She managed to come very close to him, drawing blood from a thin cut on his chin. Gothren struck back with another blast of fire, but she turned it aside with a small, precise ward. When she closed again he drew his Daedric dagger, mindful of the ice now all around him. He had managed to melt some of the ice around them with his fire spell, but he needed to be cautious. They traded blow after blow, their differing fighting styles paving the course of the battle.

Laje-tal parried a stab and sent a hard, hot blast of fire beneath them, melting the ice and filling the area with a thick steam. Under the cover, she removed a large vial of poison, smashing it, the vapors of the poison mixing with the steam. She could hear Gothren cough before he struck up a wind, blowing the poisonous mist back her way, slipping back under the cover of an invisibility spell. The spell was a good idea, but she could hear him moving as he tried to maintain his footing on the ice, wheezing from the choking poison. Once he came just within range, she blasted him with a strong dispelling magic while he skidded forth to launch a stab from his dagger in her direction. In a flash she diverted the blow, using the momentum to close in. Her tail wrapped around his lower leg, unsettling his balance as she laid a hard punch to the back of his head.

Stunned, Gothren struggled to his feet, shielded with a quick spell. She was ready for this, and didn't press the attack, letting him wear his magicka thinner with the draining shield. Gothren recovered quickly, charging at her with a flame spell in one hand and shock in another. He closed in and managed to glance her with the shock spell, jolting her sharply. She bore the pain to keep the close distance, grabbing his arm to throw him as the shock spell relayed back on him through their contact. The jolt coursed through him but he recovered, his fire spell still ready. He laughed. “Hah, you fight as fiercely as everyone says!”

Laje-tal made no comment, not allowing any distraction to interfere. He seemed more affected by the shock spell than she expected, or maybe the poison was starting to do its work, and he was likely trying to buy some time by talking. While he made some comment about Argonians she didn't pay attention to, she withdrew a root from her pocket, readying it in her right fist. She charged forward, using her sword and her horns to force him back onto the defense. They exchanged magical and physical blows back and forth, and eventually the older man started to tire. He lunged and she allowed him to come just short of making his mark, feeding magic into the root in her fist, allowing the sudden explosion of roots to snag into his long robes and capture him.

Her victory was messy. The roots of the plant had hardened to points, entangling Gothren and stabbing into many vital points in his body. When the crowd of people around her started cheering, she almost jumped with a start, so focused on the battle that she had forgotten about them. She just wiped the blood from her face, looking around at them as the sudden realization hit. She had won. As much as she hated standing on ceremony, she had to make it official, and faced the crowd. “By the right of the Magister who has defeated the Arch-Magister in fair single combat, I declare myself Arch-Magister of House Telvanni.” From the group she could see Endase approaching quickly, a triumphant smile on her face. Laje-tal sighed, tired, and greeted the woman with a nod. “Excuse me, but would you have Gothren's remains taken care of in the proper rites? I would see to it myself but I need to secure a steward for this Tel and report to the other councilors immediately.”

Endase looked over the field as the remaining roots withdrew, no longer fueled by the magic coursing through them, leaving behind only Gothren's still form. “I will see to it that he's given the proper courtesy and rites. You should take his dagger and robes, as well as his councilor helm from his study as testament to your victory. I'll manage things around here, I've been doing so for years! Go on now!”

Laje-tal shook her head with a smile as she retrieved the items suggested, including the helm from Gothren's study. Once all was settled, she took a moment to rest in the empty study, catching her breath as the last jitters from the shock spell wore off. There was so much to do now! First and foremost, however, had to do with Tel Aruhn itself, and the slave market just outside. That would have to go, but she didn't want to leave the trader without work. Then there was the matter of the other councilors. Dratha would probably be beside herself with joy that the new Arch-Magister was a woman, never mind her race. Therana didn't even know what day it was. Baladas was close enough to be a friend to her now, but Neloth was another story. She would keep a close eye on him.

Her thoughts turned to Aryon. Damn. She would have to face him. What could be said? What did she even want from this? Her arms crossed around herself as she sat in silence, struggling with the answers. She knew what love was; she was in her thirties, after all, and she had watched that sort of thing go on around her all her life. What she didn't know was how to accept the fact that she had that sort of love for Aryon. She knew what could come next if things went far enough. Could she accept that, too? A drop of blood fell from her horns onto her shirt, and she remembered she was still covered in it. Maybe a good swim would clear her head.

 

* * *

Smokeskin stood on duty outside the tall tower of Tel Vos when Laje-tal returned, certainly looking worse for wear. She hadn't even recalled to the tower as she usually did, coming up from the docks after having taken the boat. He greeted her when she approached, chin raised high. “Welcome back, Laje-tal. Or, should I say Arch-Magister?”

Hesitantly she nodded, her nerves still frayed from the battle. “Yes, I formally declared it to all witnesses in Tel Aruhn. There will be some new changes made in this house.”

“Good,” he said with relief. “Starting with that damned slave market, I'm sure! Can you imagine? If we can end it here even in Telvanni territory, we might be able to end it for good. Ah, Master Aryon wanted to see you, by the way.”

She scoffed. “After what I just did, I would imagine so. Anything important?”

“Something about... ah, making up for what he said to you?” His grin was downright mischievous, his green eyes narrowed. “Apparently it was something very interesting.”

Her own eyes narrowed, though in her case it was with suspicion. “Gods, do you have your nose in everything going on around here?”

He only stood tall and stiff, affecting nonchalance. “Me? Never!” After a short laugh he grew serious, however, watching her with a wry smile. “Well, maybe. I know how these things are, my friend. Don't let the past get in the way of your future. Face it with the same brave face you always have.”

His reassurance was unexpected, and she found herself returning his smile. While she'd had her doubts in the beginning, Smokeskin had turned out to be a kind, reliable friend. “I will. Thank you.” She headed into the Tel, the lightened mood making it easier to approach the inner study with confidence. Aryon was at his desk yet again, agonizing over a pile of enchanting contracts. Determined to start off her return on a positive tone, she grinned at him when he looked up at her with a wary glance. “Did you know that Smokeskin is the authority on anything interesting going on around here?”

As hoped Aryon smiled, standing straight to greet her. “He made me well aware of that. Did you know that Eddie has been having secret meetings with some blind Altmer from the Twin Lamps?”

Startled, she nearly dropped her pack as she moved to remove it. “What? Eddie is meeting with Tenvaril again? In Vvardenfell? By the Gods, you can't be serious!”

He waved his hands, confused. “That's what Smokeskin said, anyway. Is that important?”

“Important!” She set her pack on the table, removing what she salvaged from Tel Aruhn. “If Tenvaril is in Vvardenfell, that's very important! Blast it all, why didn't Eddie tell me? I'll have a few choice words for him!” Belatedly she realized she had been going on about something Aryon knew nothing about and shot him an apologetic smile. “Ah, right, I never mentioned this. Tenvaril works with the Lamps back in Deshaan, liberating slaves around the southern border. That Altmer has the biggest heart of any I know. I never thought he would leave Deshaan, even for Eddie's sake. The Dunmer have some rather mixed feelings about hulkynd Altmer, never mind Altmer in general, and for him to be here in Vvardenfell? They must be planning something significant for him to stray so far from our allies.”

He relaxed, their usual talk putting him at ease. “A hulkynd? Oh, right, Smokeskin said he is blind?”

“Yes, from birth. Those silly Altmer in the isles throw out their children for the most idiotic reasons I've heard. He's just blind, he's not incompetent. He arranges transportation, or education if the slaves wish to move on to work in Cyrodiil or other free provinces. Fine mage, too, and infinitely better at restoration than I will ever be. Blast, though, what could be be doing in Vvardenfell? Maybe he heard about what I'm doing here. Maybe he wants to free slaves farther out of his usual range. Gods, damn it all, I want to know!”

Aryon laughed. “Relax, I'm sure Eddie has it under control.”

“It's Eddie I'm worried about,” she said, frustrated. “He likes to make it seem like he's all business but I know better! I'm sure Tenvaril isn't here just to free some slaves. This is also about what happened in Mournhold, I'm sure of it.”

He leaned back against the wall, completely lost. “What in Oblivion are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about one of the most frustrating romances that has ever taken place! Oh never mind that, if you want all the details I'll give them to you, but I really need to sort out the plans for Tel Aruhn.”

Baffled, he blinked in surprise. “He's involved with Tenvaril?”

“Well, I hope so, it would be about damned time. They've been playing this game since I've known them, it's maddening. He knows Eddie's actual name! Even I don't know that!” She laid out Gothren's tattered robe, wondering what to do with the thing. It looked irreparable, too full of holes and stains to do much of anything with. What a waste. Glancing up at his face she could see he was still trying to process what she told him, and she grinned. “Like I said, Eddie's interests lay in a different direction. Don't let it ruin your perceptions.”

Aryon only held a small, sad smile. “I'm hardly in any position to judge someone for who they love.”

She froze, having just set aside Gothren's Daedric dagger. In an instant the tension had returned, but she was determined to see this through. Silently she left the rest of her pack as it was, coming behind the desk to face him just as she had when she first arrived in Tel Vos. “Is that how this is? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, taking one of her hands in his. He could feel her shaking, though the shakes stilled within his grasp. “Yes, I do. I won't be sorry for how I feel, but I understand if you don't feel the same way. If you truly want to forget about it, I will.”

She found herself reflecting his words from earlier, facing his gaze with direct conviction. “I can't do that.” Just as she had so long ago now, she backed him up against the wall, her other hand on his chest. “To forget about it would be to deny my own feelings.”

Aryon, surprised by her assured advance, felt a slight hope raise with her words. He needed to be careful. He rested his hands on her waist, pulling her just the slightest bit closer. “Don't, then. Let it be as it is.” Laje-tal quickly closed the distance, leaning forth to kiss him. She wasn't sure if her kind did such a thing but she managed, the warmth rising as he returned the kiss. Aryon's embrace tightened, pulling her flush against him, deepening their kiss. When they separated, Laje-tal laid her brow against his.

“I think I found a rather good way to shut you up if you start to prattle on.” He chuckled, laying a brief kiss on her nose. He doubted he would mind being shut up in the future.

 

* * *

In a brace of shrubs, Laje-tal and Aryon crept close to the ground, waiting. Laje-tal was itching to see if Smokeskin was right and Eddie would be having one of his clandestine meetings. Insects buzzed in the night air, the light wind rustling the trees and shrubs. Hopefully there would be enough overlaying noise to cover their presence. “If it's Tenvaril, we'll have to be careful,” she whispered. “That man can hear a pin drop in the next province!”

A shadow passed through the field from the Tel, and soon Eddie came out into the clearing. He carried a sack of items, but it was unclear what. Vigilant, he looked around the clearing, biting his lip nervously. A hand went through his short red hair, and he started to fidget. Before long he was joined by his contact, and it was indeed an Altmer man. He was quite tall, as most Altmer were, a whole head above Eddie. His hair was very long and silver despite his youthful appearance, a long strip of cloth tied over his unseeing eyes.

Laje-tal gestured and nodded. Yes, that was indeed Tenvaril. What was most peculiar, though, was his odd assortment of clothing. His mage robes were short, only to his knee over his pants, and a stark red and gold. There was hardly any sleeve to it either, his arms almost entirely bare. Aryon knew they had to be quiet but he couldn't help but wonder. “Strange mage robes.”

“Helps him feel changes in the wind and temperature,” she said close to his ear. “Be still, he will use a detect life spell if he suspects anything and then it will all be over.”

Tenvaril also carried a long staff, and swept the end of it about until it made contact with Eddie's foot. He smiled. “Ah, there you are, you're so quiet today. Did you find all of them?”

Eddie brought out the sack, metal jingling within. “Almost, I still have a few more to go. I couldn't find one for Molag Mar or the Telvanni canton in Vivec. We'll have to go about it another way.”

More metal clinked about as Tenvaril fished through the sack, head raised to listen. “This is very promising, you found quite a few!” He withdrew a few pieces and suddenly it was clear what had been found. Keys. The sack was filled with keys! “You've outdone yourself, my friend. Is the Dren Plantation one in here too?”

Eddie laughed. “Oh come now, who do you think I am? Of course it is.”

“Naturally,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Goodness but there are so many. I can't imagine how many slaves will fit with these keys. Ah, you were right to ask me to come here. If we free all of these people, there will need to be quite a bit of doing to get them on their way.” He suddenly tilted his head around, seeking out an unheard noise. “You'd better come out, Laje-tal, I know you're here.”

She held back a curse. Damn, how did he always know? From their cover they both approached the clearing, Eddie looking on with a grin. Laje-tal did, at least, have the grace to look apologetic. “It's good to see you again, Tenvaril. I see you two have been up to quite a bit.”

Eddie managed a nervous laugh. “Ah, well, I was going to tell you about it eventually, honest. With you being the new Arch-Magister, though, I figured the less you knew for now, the better. Things are still in the planning stage.”

Beside him Tenvaril turned in the direction of her voice, leaning forward curiously. “You are the Arch-Magister of the Telvanni, Laje-tal? I have missed quite a bit, it seems. Who is with you?”

Aryon came forth, not sure if he should offer a handshake. “Master Aryon, sir.”

“Oh my. We have quite a few Telvanni involved, don't we? The three of you, and one other Argonian who has come by. What a strange world, indeed. Well, for now we had better get these to Lenassa, we still need to get the number of the slaves in the places we can't find keys for.”

“Lenassa?” Aryon looked at Laje-tal, perplexed.

“Lenassa Hlaalu,” she supplied. “I based my illusion on her quite a bit, actually. She was the one who set me up to work with the Imperials, she still runs the Lamps near Tear. Well, I'm in on this mess now. How many keys do we need to get, yet? Anything I can do?”

Eddie passed her his list, only a few location names not yet checked off. “There are a few that don't seem to have keys to the slave bracers. No idea why anyone would do that, but we can break them off the hard way if we have to. Tenvaril has been working on an alteration spell that we hope will work, but all of the unlocking spells and picks we know can't break these modern slave bracers, they're made to be opened only with a key. Cracking them open with a grinder and pry bar isn't a pleasant experience for anyone involved!”

She shuddered. “Gods, no. Well, I will try to find out what I can. The Sadrith Mora market is under Neloth, we might not be able to do much for them and not get caught. Tel Aruhn is open now, but I want to get that trader into different work. If I just remove her, she'll continue her same work elsewhere, and probably make herself harder to find.”

“Messy,” he agreed. “We'll have to go about this carefully. What you can do for us is not be involved. I know it's hard, but you can't be doing this. This operation we're doing is going to be slow, freeing the smallest caves first and working our way out. We'll go for the big ones when the time is right, but you need to leave your nose out of this! You can accomplish far more by doing whatever it is the other councilors and Telvanni need done, unlike Gothren.”

Tenvaril nodded, leaning on his staff in thought. “He has a point. Even the Telvanni aren't so proud that they won't recognize competence and perseverance. If you provide a good example of what an Argonian can do in a place of power, you will contribute toward their perception of your race on the whole. So much of this conflict has come from lack of understanding. Speak with your fellow councilors and help them understand you, not as an Argonian, but as a person.”

Laje-tal couldn't help but absorb his words, knowing he was right. She shouldn't involve herself. She should also leave the details of Tel Aruhn to them, if she were wise. Allowing them to operate for her behind the front she posed was the safest method, and the most likely to succeed. “I understand. I will let you take care of freeing the slaves and removing them quietly.” She reached forward to take his hand in a firm grip. “I know that if anyone can do it, you two can.”

He returned her grip briefly before withdrawing. “I don't have the highest numbers in the Lamps for nothing!”

Eddie scoffed. “You mean we do!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said with a laugh. “This is a team effort, after all. Ah, I know!” He held out the bag of keys to Laje-tal, opening it. “I know how you can be of help. Why don't you pick out which place we will go first?”

Laje-tal reached into the bag, fishing around until one caught her interest. She removed it, looking at the attached label. “Yakanalit.” The key was handed to Tenvaril, who placed it in his pocket. “So, you'll be leaving, then?”

“Soon, yes. Once we have-” He suddenly turned, a magical shield cast wide around his staff, blocking an incoming poison dart. Everyone was soon on the defense, attacked from all angles by five Dark Brotherhood agents. Laje-tal stood with her back against Eddie's just as she had many times before, drawing her sword as he readied an ice spell. Aryon caught on to the strategy and joined their close group, summoning a bright orb of light overhead. Each agent had the distinctive armor of the Dark Brotherhood, close-fitting suits of black and red.

Two agents converged on Tenvaril, who stood separate from the group. He cast a detect life spell, the thrum of the magic in their resulting auras enough for him to hear where they were. With his staff he countered a swipe from their daggers, knocking one back with a forceful ward. The other was dispatched when Eddie launched a shard of ice through the agent's chest. Laje-tal gored her agent with a calculated strike from her talons, Aryon summoning a storm atronach to their aid. While they were slightly outnumbered, the Dark Brotherhood agents soon fell one by one. When it was all over, Laje-tal searched their remains to find yet another note.

“By Azura,” she groaned with aggravation, “they're after me again. I would have thought the Morag Tong would be hunting them down by now. This is getting old.”

Aryon glanced at the note, frowning. “Same initial of who is sending them, too. Have you told Barenziah yet?”

“I did, yes. I'm waiting on a reply. Blast, what if it is Helseth after all? What could he want with me?”

“I think I understand why he would want to do away with you,” he mused. Unwittingly he now reflected her own thoughts over the past days. “You're quite dangerous, you know. You also now hold quite a high power in this land. Only the Duke himself is higher than the top councilors of the Great Houses. You also now pose yourself as the Nerevarine, the reincarnated soul of one who has become quite a legend. Then, of course, is your affiliation with the Imperials. To say you might threaten his crown is quite plausible, if a bit ridiculous. It's his own fault that he has drawn negative attention to himself.”

Tenvaril neared them, his voice thick with concern. “The Nerevarine?”

Laje-tal held out her left hand to let him feel the moon and star ring, knowing there would be many questions she may not have answers for. “If this ring is any proof of it, yes.”

“Oh, this is terrible. This is very terrible indeed.”

“I know, I heard that Almalexia has gotten very unstable from being unable to renew her powers, the Temple is going to start hunting me down, and to top it all off I still have this Dark Brotherhood contract on my head.”

“No, not just that,” he said emphatically, his worry plain. “The Nerevarine is said to remove the false gods from Morrowind, that means all three of the Tribunal. Vivec is the only one able to keep the moonlet above the city where it is. Baar Dau has slipped from its position before, which is why it is so terribly close to the Temple canton, but without Vivec there to hold it, it will certainly crash into the city. There's no telling how much damage that could cause.”

She drew back in shock, suddenly realizing what he meant. Everyone in Morrowind knew the story of Baar Dau, and how it had been flung at the canton for reasons nobody could completely agree on. The story went that Vivec held it there with his power instead of sending it elsewhere, on the threat that if his people ever stopped loving him, the moonlet would destroy the city. “Blast that man and his vanity. It would take a whole team of mages and then some just to even hope to divert the thing! Why did I not think of that?”

“You have quite a bit on your mind as it is, my friend,” he assured. “Cause and effect are often difficult to see until the event in question has passed. You will cause many unknown things to happen if the prophecy is fulfilled. Perhaps I can be of some small help to you. Eddie?” When the man in question approached, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. Would you mind writing down some notes for Laje-tal in the coming days? I doubt our friends want to stay out here all night just to hear my thoughts on the Nerevarine.”

Eddie laughed, but from her close proximity Laje-tal could see the slight hurt in his eyes. “Sure, I'll do that. It's no trouble.”

“Much appreciated. If you all will pardon me, then, I must be leaving. I have a feeling it is quite late. You know where I will be.” With that, Tenvaril excused himself, disappearing into the dark brush.

Only once he was very well out of earshot did Laje-tal turn to Eddie, holding his shoulders until he looked at her. “By the Gods, Eddie, what are you doing?”

Aryon seemed to understand the shift in tone in the conversation, and withdrew from the area with a gesture back at the Tel. “I will be heading back now as well. I'll be up for a time if I'm needed.”

Several long minutes passed in silence even after Aryon was long gone. Finally Eddie let out a sigh. “I don't know what I'm doing. I thought everything would be alright after all this time. I really do need his help with all of these slaves we're looking to move out. I thought that as long as it was about the business, everything would be fine.”

“I think you really need to talk to him about what happened in Mournhold. You can't let something like that hang between you indefinitely. Even if it was nothing, at least then you will know.”

“Oh what do you know?” His brows furrowed sharply, but just as quickly relaxed. “Ah damn it, Laje-tal, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

Silently she pulled her friend into a light embrace, offering what support she could. “What I know is that I'm glad to have voiced my own feelings. I realize I am more direct than you are, but I could not have gone on not knowing. I'm fortunate to have my feelings returned, but even if they hadn't been, it would have been better than being in between. Even a broken heart is proof that you have one.”

Eddie grumbled into her shoulder. “Damn you and your logic.” When she released him, though, he had to admit he felt the slightest bit better. He managed a smile. “Let me guess, Aryon?”

She scoffed playfully as she walked away toward the Tel, looking back over her shoulder with a grin. “Who else?” Together they returned to the Tel in improved spirits, though the lingering threat of the Dark Brotherhood still loomed on the horizon. There was yet so much to do and as the coming days would prove, so little time left before all would descend into chaos.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Deep within the Hlaalu canton of Vivec City, Laje-tal took a steadying breath. This was all she had yet to do to secure her position as Hortator of the three major Great Houses. As Arch-Magister, there was nothing to stop her from being the Hortator of the Telvanni, and the Redoran had accepted her readily enough after a bit of work and a duel with Bolvyn Venim. The Hlaalu, however, would be interesting. After a bit of asking around, she learned that no other than Crassius Curio was the man to start with, and her guts twisted just at the thought of that horrid man. Hopefully he wouldn't recognize her.

Laje-tal hadn't yet worn the Telvanni Arch-Magister robes she'd had made up. She felt a bit uncomfortable with the elegant embroidery and the color purple in general, but Aryon had insisted that if she ever needed to impress anyone, looking the part would be necessary. Right now it was the best bet for trying to look very, very different from the young commoner maid she had once been. With all of her finery, enchanted jewelry and staff of office, surely she would look like someone else.

She was terribly wrong.

“Laje-tal!” Damn. The man had recognized her as soon as she entered, and she tucked her tail close to her legs reflexively. Despite this she kept her head raised, looking down her nose at him. She didn't need to take any more of his nonsense. He was a councilor, but he wasn't the head of the Hlaalu. She outranked him, so she would give him civility and nothing else.

“Good day,” she said with a touch of ice. “As current Hortator of the Redoran and Telvanni, and as Arch-Magister of the latter, I have come to petition for the position of Hortator for the Hlaalu.”

Crassius leered at her from his desk. “Hmm, yes, I might just consider it... for a kiss.”

She held back a particularly foul comment. “I will do no such thing.”

He only bit his lip in thought, eyes narrowed with glee. “I have a Dwemer tube that needs polishing. There's plenty of oil on hand to lubricate a few... pistons.”

“No.”

“Perhaps you could be a darling and handle a couple of grand soul gems, they require a delicate touch to grant their full power to the bearer.”

Her jaw clenched with repressed frustration. Where did he come up with these insane things? “I have no time for nonsense. Be serious with your request and I shall consider it.”

To her dismay he pulled forth a broom. “I have a very fine broom that could use a resting place between your soft pillows!”

Laje-tal managed to not kill him by some grace of an unknown number of gods, withdrawing a large pile of coins and sliding them across the table to him. “Hortator. I'm sure we're now speaking the same language?”

He looked over the hefty sum, a thousand septims, with a tinge of regret. “I believe we are, yes. Very well. I will give my support, but you will need the support of the others as well, pudding. Dram Bero will support you if you can find him. Two others can be swayed if you can convince Orvas Dren to be on your side. I'm sure you can turn your sweet charm on him and he will be putty in your hands.”

She held back a scoff. She knew that Orvas Dren, in particular, would be even harder than what she was doing right now. Charm, indeed. No, she would need something far better than that. As she left she heard Crassius call after her, but she pretended not to hear him. She didn't have time for this. It was time to come up with some very good blackmail.

 

* * *

“I have an idea on how to compromise the Dren Plantation.” Laje-tal's statement took Eddie by surprise. She had found a very interesting note in the plantation, but instead of presenting it to Orvas Dren and simply asking to be named Hortator, she brought it to Tel Vos first. The Duke would be outraged if he found out that his brother was conspiring to have him murdered, which would leave Orvas to succeed him as the closest heir, never mind Vedam's daughter. The fact that Ilmeni Dren was a supporter of the Twin Lamps in Vvardenfell made it even better. It all laid the perfect path to make a very calculated strike against Orvas Dren. When she explained her thoughts to Eddie, he sighed with exasperation.

“Conspiring to murder the Duke, smuggling Skooma and moon sugar, leading the Camonna Tong! This is very risky, but I don't have to tell you that. Still, if we can take away all of his slaves, it will stifle his business. If we then expose his treachery to the Duke, he would be ruined if not killed outright. I know Ilmeni would love to free those slaves, but I don't know. There's no telling what might happen if we do this. It might not be the right time, yet.”

From her pack she withdrew a peculiar metal implement, placing it on the table before him. “I think you should also know that the Dren Plantation is using these on their slaves.”

Eddie's ashen face paled, eyes widened as he looked at it. “Scale hooks!” He made a revolted noise. Spring-tensed hooks like that were intended to latch into the scales on an Argonian's spine, wedging themselves deeper as the victim moved until they met the spine itself. It was a horrendous torture item meant to keep the victim still. “I thought those things went out of style years ago. Trust the Dren Plantation and people like House Dres to keep tradition alive. Alright, I see your point, I truly do, but I think we should contact Ilmeni Dren to get her opinion on this. She will know the inner workings of that family and can tell us whether we should do it. I think we should also consult Tenvaril. We'll need his help too.”

Aryon came into the library as soon as he heard their conversation, approaching them with a thoughtful look. “That's true enough. What you want to do is illegal, after all. The Armistice allows for the open ownership of slaves and removing them from their owners is theft. Considering that a fit slave sells for a thousand septims, it would be a very expensive mistake if you were caught.”

Laje-tal nodded, knowing the facts. “Right. I know we need to bide our time. There is no harm in thinking it over. I have also run into a rather peculiar situation with the Zainab Ashlander tribe and I hoped you two might have some insight on this.”

“The Zainab? Is this about them confirming you as Nerevarine? What did they need?”

“Oh, it's such a ridiculous thing! Their ashkhan wants a bride, but do you know what he asked for? He wants to have a high-born Telvanni woman as his bride!” When they both laughed she only sighed. “I know, I know. That would never happen. I asked their wise woman for her thoughts, and... well, she suggested I go back to Tel Aruhn and acquire a slave! How can I even think of doing such a thing?”

“Savile Imayne would certainly be the right person for it. She finds molding people to be an art.” He frowned. “Perhaps you should take a look for now. You have been considering what to do with that slave market in the future, why not take this time to speak with Savile and see what other sorts of work she would be suited for? While you're there, maybe see who Savile suggests for your dilemma and if the slave is willing to wed an Ashlander. That slave may find the opportunity a blessing, after all.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “I've known slaves who wanted little more than a warm bed, three meals a day, and nobody harming them. To be dressed up as a noble and matched with a man who would take care of her might be more than she ever dreamed of. Alright then.” With that she straightened, resolved. “I will look it over and consider it from all angles. What a headache!”

Eddie agreed with an emphatic nod. “You've always been good at acquiring headaches. I'll see what I can come up with about the plantation. Oh, Tel Uvirith is done, by the way! It will be guarded by Dwemer constructs, too. You'd better have a look at it before you go back to Orvas Dren and rub this information you found about him in his face!”

“Blast it all, I haven't even been there yet!” Her tail flicked against the wall in annoyance. “I have a home and yet I apparently can't be bothered to even go there before it's done! Ah well, I just haven't had the time. Eddie, you'll have to come look it over too when you can, I requested they add on a house pod for you and I must make sure it has all you need.”

“What?” He chuckled in surprise. “For me? Why?”

She prodded his shoulder playfully. “Do you really want to put up with those Mouths at the Council House any longer than you have to? I have noticed you stay here at Tel Vos whenever you can! Your little hole in the wall in Balmora is likely full of dust now!”

“Hah, you know me! I suppose I could spare a couple days down there. I'm not needed for the venture into Yakanalit yet, it's high time we break the place in. Look at all this work!”

Laje-tal sighed at the pile of papers already amassed in front of them, knowing there was yet more and more to do than just this one stack. “Damn, but a new stronghold is needy! At least Tel Aruhn isn't something I need to worry about just yet, Endase is taking care of everything. She can be in charge permanently for all I care. I just need to figure out something for the Zainab. I took care of the other three tribes already, and House Hlaalu shouldn't be any trouble with Orvas cornered. Am I missing something?” She paged through her notes, frustrated. “Gods, what am I missing?”

Beside her Aryon took away the notes from her hands, setting them aside. “I think you have quite enough to keep track of as it is. If I find anything missing, I'll have it done.”

“What about all the enchanting contracts?”

“It's fine, I'll take care of them,” he insisted. “You've done plenty. After all the times you have torn me away from my projects to have some needed rest, it's only fair that I return the favor. Whatever it is can wait until morning.”

“Morning! That's right, I was going to visit Tel Mora in the morning.”

He sighed, taking hold of her arm to drag her away if he had to. “We'll remind you. Come now, it's late even by our reckoning. Even Eddie looks about ready to sleep where he stands!”

Eddie, who had indeed been blinking himself awake more than once that night, now straightened with a huff. “Not my fault that Laje-tal doesn't know what the appropriate hour to bring in all of her nonsense is.” He smiled, though, taking up his own stack of papers and gesturing with them on his way out. “You can count on me, I'll do my part! I'll find Ilmeni Dren and get things moving, you just keep your nose out of it!”

Laje-tal all but shooed him out the door. “Yes, yes, I know about it! Go on now! Get!” He laughed his way out, leaving her to sigh and lean against the wall in his wake, overwhelmed by everything that needed to be done. “How can I rest with all of this in front of me?” She was quickly pulled into Aryon's embrace, his arms snug around her waist.

“How anyone can rest with those heavy robes is beyond me.”

She chuckled. “Hah, are you saying I should undress? By Azura, you're as bad as that Hlaalu councilor.”

“Councilor? Oh, him.” He frowned in disgust. Everyone knew about Crassius Curio and his tendencies. “What did he ask of you?”

“Nothing I agreed to. That idiot asked for a kiss! Me, the Arch-Magister! He had some nerve! I'm not someone's maid to be bossed around anymore!”

“You most certainly are not.” She came closer, her tail snaking around his leg as she returned his embrace, giving him the kiss she wouldn't share with any other. When they parted, he faced her with a serious look. “If he does anything unwelcome, it would be a great insult toward yourself and the house. When all of this is over, you'd be within your right to hold him accountable for his actions.”

“When all of this is over, hm?” She rested her chin on his shoulder, leaning into his warmth. Sometimes it felt like the pile of things she had to do would never be over. “When this is over, I think I will go give Barenziah a piece of my mind for shoving me into all of this. I think she assigned me to this project on purpose. Not that I mind, of course,” she added. “I have enjoyed my time on Vvardenfell more than I ever thought I could.”

“You'll go to Mournhold, then?”

“At some point, if I'm able,” she said quietly. “If Helseth has a contract on me, I would prefer to settle our differences in person. If you can, you should come along.”

Surprised, he drew back to look at her. “To Mournhold?”

“Yes, you could come meet some of my companions, and I could show you the palace.” She grinned. “Sorting out the business with the Dark Brotherhood could take any length of time, and I would hate for you to be lonely.”

“Oh is that how it is?” Aryon asked with a laugh. “Well I surely can't leave you to do something like that all by yourself. Perhaps once your exile is lifted, and your stronghold isn't quite so needy, things will be well enough in order. For now, I must insist that you rest.”

“Rest! I can't rest like this!” A stifled yawn made his point, though, and she pulled away in resignation. As Aryon moved on into the inner chamber, she removed the weighty Arch-Magister robes, relieved to have them off her shoulders. She hung it on a sturdy wall hook as Aryon set aside his own, her excessive jewelry tossed into an awaiting box. Thank goodness that was all done with, at least. For now, she could be comfortable for a while. When Aryon pulled her close again, though, the difference was very noticeable. He often went without a shirt under his robes, and her own tunic was the only layer between them. It suddenly seemed like a very, very thin layer.

Instinctively her hands came up to land on his chest, the smooth, warm skin inviting. Equal parts panic and enticement warred in her thoughts, leaving her to stay still, waiting. She knew she could trust him, that he wouldn't hurt her, but she couldn't stop her body's reaction. Aryon seemed to feel her tense, and his grip loosened, enough for her to move away if she needed to. He laid a soft kiss on her brow, the tension easing as she relaxed in his grip. “It's alright.”

“I know,” she said with confidence, looking him straight in the eye. “I trust you, but it's hard to fight against what I have needed to do all of my life to protect myself. I will stay by you, but I can't be like any others you may have had.”

“Others? Gods, I hope you're never anything like them,” he grumbled. Though he wanted to leave the statement as it was, the inquisitive tilt of her head was enough to draw the rest from him. “There were only three. The first thought she could use my naive, idiotic younger self, and I'll admit she did for a while. The second was brief, nothing special, but the third ended up being so horrible she made me swear off these things entirely.” He tapped her nose playfully. “You made me an oath breaker, you know.”

One hand brushed up to his neck, feeling the steady pulse underneath. “I hope it's worth it.”

He answered her with a burning kiss. “Stay with me tonight?” When her look turned concerned, he added, “to rest, that is.”

“Alright.” The answer came out before she even thought it over, and somewhat surprised her. It had been several days, but she was still unsure how to react to certain aspects of a relationship. Apparently some part of her had an idea. She followed after him to the back and down below, the one and only place in the Tel she hadn't been allowed into until now. For a long time she had wondered what it looked like, and her need to know kept her calm.

Aryon's room wasn't an enclosed room, but rather a carved out section that went partially under the main study. It was low and fenced off for privacy, but open enough to access with little effort. Aside from extra storage and a few trinkets, there wasn't much else to the room that wasn't different from the rest of the Tel. While Aryon laid down with a tired grumble, she took a moment to examine a chunk of raw glass laying on a shelf. It was clearly flawed, but the shape of the internal flaw was part of what made it intriguing. “Someone found that in the lower caverns,” he stated when he saw her interest.

“It likely had quite a bit of volcanic pressure on it, and the quartz impurities and air pockets caused the flaw inside to rupture.” She was soon at his bedside, smiling down at his puzzled look. “Someone had to make sure that all the glass we dug up was worth the trouble.” After a moment of consideration she joined him, laying down on the soft, wide bed. Aryon drew her close again, and she rested her chin on his shoulder with a contented sigh. Any worries left faded to nothing in the warmth of his embrace. In only moments, she was asleep, only recalling a brief sensation of his hand on her side.

 

* * *

Aryon woke with his right arm almost completely numb. He looked over to see Laje-tal's head on his shoulder, and though he didn't want to wake her, he also wanted to feel his arm again. Carefully he moved enough to relocate her to a pillow, wincing at the intense tingling pain shooting down his arm. That hadn't exactly worked as planned. He laid back down, a hand idly on her back. Under her thin shirt he could feel the raised bumps and pocked depressions of her old scars, and he again scowled at the memory of Gothren's abuse. Despite the man being dead, Aryon found himself bristling at the thought. It was a bit silly to feel protective of Laje-tal when she was the one who killed Gothren, but he did.

He leaned close, his nose near hers, calmed by her steady breaths. Her tail flicked, soon alert, eyes open and irises thinning to slits as she looked his way. She closed them back up with a groan. “Damn it, that's right, I need to go to Tel Mora.”

“You don't have to,” he said with a chuckle.

“I do, though. Dratha is expecting me. Apparently there was quite a list of things she needed approval on from the Arch-Magister, and as Gothren so very loved doing, he let it go indefinitely. I intend to be as efficient and punctual as I've been with you.”

“Just like an Imperial!”

Another groan. “Yes, just like the Imperials, I'll admit that wore off on me. You can't complain about me being ineffective.” She rolled on top of him, pinning him down. She had been about to say something else, but his eyes widened at her unexpected gesture, and she realized her leg had brushed up against a very sensitive area. Carefully she moved away, rising to leave.

“I would definitely say you are very effective.” Though Argonians couldn't visibly blush, she still managed to look completely embarrassed by her inadvertent actions. “Don't worry, go ahead to Tel Mora. I'll be here whenever you wish to come back.” Thankfully she left without comment, though the tilt of her shapely hips as she left made him grit his teeth against the very obvious effect it had on him. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. “Damn it, I'm getting as daft as that Hlaalu idiot!”

Aryon moved to a nearby dresser, putting on a spare set of mage robes. He had never expected to be attracted to the physical aspects of any sort of Argonian, yet here he was. He stared at the row of books on his dresser, regaining his composure. Why had he left a book about Ascadian Isles flora down here? Annoyed, he took the book, heading up and back to the library, filing it where it belonged. He nearly jumped with a start when Laje-tal came up from behind to look over his shoulder, her hands at his waist. “Flowers of the Ascadian Isles? Strange sort of thing to read before bed.”

With a huff he turned around to see her back in her elaborate robes, watching him with open interest. “It puts me to sleep.”

“Ah yes, the exciting adventures of gold kanet and corkbulb on the shores of Lake Amaya.” She chuckled. “I'm going to Tel Mora, I suspect Dratha has far more interesting reading material.”

“I must remind you that that book is yours, actually! It has your initials in it!” He took the book back out to show her inside the cover where she had indeed written her initials on the first page.

“Yet you found it so interesting that you took my book down to your bedroom to read at night! I don't know what to think of that!” She moved back to leave. “I must keep an eye on my possessions now, I think, lest I find you reading something of mine in a far more compromising position.”

“Oh go on, already!” Laje-tal exited with a playful laugh, and Aryon wouldn't admit even to himself that he watched the sway of her tail as she left.

 

* * *

At a moderately sized table in a reception room in Tel Mora, Laje-tal sat, waiting for Mistress Dratha's arrival. She was still a little baffled by just how many people were in the Tel – and that they were all female. It was well known that Dratha's tower was entirely staffed by women, but to actually see it was something in itself. The Tel itself hosted a few services and managed well for itself, but Dratha and her women interfered as little as possible with outlying lands. Dratha herself was the eldest Telvanni second only to Fyr, and it was rumored she had gone to drastic lengths to maintain her lifespan. Laje-tal would not ask on the how or the why. She didn't want to know.

After a time, Dratha entered the room, accompanied briefly by her assistant. Laje-tal rose to greet her, nodding in a polite bow. “Good day, Mistress Dratha. I hope you can forgive me for not seeking you out sooner.”

The elder woman's cunning eyes only narrowed with interest as she waved away her assistant. “It would have been unwise to expose your intended rise to Arch-Magister prematurely, even if you had been a Dunmer. I would have done the same in your precarious situation.” She settled herself at a chair across the table, ever watchful as Laje-tal also seated herself. “I have heard quite a bit about you, as close to Aryon's stronghold as I am. I do hope you understand the gravity of your position as Arch-Magister. I have learned the value of careful neglect, but it doesn't do to ignore all matters as Gothren did.”

“I completely agree,” Laje-tal stated. “One must use a gentle hand, neither too much nor too little, as Barenziah herself has said. My intent is to offer each of you Masters the courtesy you very well deserve, and to step no further into your matters than I must. I trust that you know what you need and will let me know about it, and I will fulfill your requests if they are within my power and ability to do so.”

“Good, I'm relieved. Gothren insisted that I was bothering him with my requests, but I do not ask for things out of idle boredom.” She tapped the table pointedly. “Tel Mora must be in top condition at all times, and going through less direct channels only wastes time and energy!”

“Having Tel Vos and Tel Mora in order will benefit us all,” she agreed. “I know that the other Telvanni will be slow to accept me, if ever they do, because I am an outlander and an Argonian. However, I feel that my experiences both outside and within Vvardenfell have given me an outlook on the situation that I would not have had if circumstances were different. I know that if we aren't prepared, we won't be able to survive the coming storm. If you know what preparations are needed, I will not hesitate.”

It was then that Dratha caught sight of Nerevar's ring on her hand, and she drew back in surprise. Just as quickly she composed herself into a vaguely intrigued look. “Is that ring what I think it is?”

Laje-tal laid her hand flat on the table, close enough to inspect it. “It is.” For several minutes, she explained her investigations into the Nerevarine prophecy, and how she had come to be infected with corprus and cured, had put on the ring without being killed, and how she was so close to being named Hortator and Nerevarine for the houses and Ashlander tribes. She found Dratha trustworthy, and Dratha did indeed take in all of the information with calculated interest.

“I see. Well, I suppose it is time, then.” She sat back with a pensive frown, eyes averted as she considered something. “I will send Aryon the list of what I need, seeing as you have quite a bit yet to do for your own self. The only thing I urgently need are more guards – women, of course. All the rest can wait, though not indefinitely. There is much to do.”

Laje-tal's brow ridges furrowed as she frowned. “It seems that what you are doing has something to do with me. Are you also anticipating that my being the Nerevarine will have catastrophic effects?”

Dratha regarded her with surprise and a touch of respect. “Well now, this is unexpected. I appreciate that you are considering more than just what you need to end the blight. Yes, you may indeed have effects on this world that none of us can anticipate, but I try to be as imaginative as possible. I received visions of the Nerevarine's arrival long ago, and since then I have been considering all of the many things that may happen as a result. I want to prepare for as much of it as I can.”

“I would appreciate any of your thoughts on the consequences, even if it seems very unlikely for it to happen. It's clear that the blight must end and Dagoth Ur must be stopped, but there is no telling what else may happen as a result. I don't want to cause any more harm than is necessary.”

Dratha rose, a small smile on her lips. “A good sentiment. Very well, Arch-Magister, I look forward to working with you in the future.” She held out her hand, and Laje-tal took it firmly in agreement.

“Tel Uvirith stands with you, Mistress Dratha.”

She wouldn't let her forget it, either.

 

* * *

Her first thought about Tel Uvirith was that it looked chaotic. Several twisted branches quirked at an angle, reaching up into the sky while others twined about the tower itself. Eddie had been unable to come with her, having been not invited to a meeting of all of the other council Mouths and making certain he would be there without them knowing. He suspected that she would be the topic of interest at that meeting, and she didn't disagree. Instead, Aryon was now here beside her, looking up at the tangled stronghold.

“At least you have enough room out here that the overgrowth won't harm anything,” he mused. “It has a strange sort of charm to it, I think.”

Laje-tal took a second look. Aside from the Dwemer constructs guarding the Tel, it really didn't seem all that different from the other towers except for the overgrown tendrils. “We'll just say it was intentional and if anyone asks why I did such a thing, I'll say they could never understand true art!”

He chuckled. “True art it is, then. I see they included the extra house pod. It will feel less empty when your staff comes, I'm sure.”

“It's as quiet as the inner ashlands, aside from the Dwemer machines.”

A long moment passed as she hesitated. Aryon looked at her, her mixed reaction difficult to read. He reached for her hand. “Aren't you going to go inside?”

“Right, of course.” Despite her words she still stood there, looking up at the massive structure. “I just can't believe this all belongs to me. I've never owned anything besides what I take with me or put in your tower.”

He offered her an encouraging smile, leading her forth. “You do now. Come on inside, I'm getting anxious just looking at you.”

She held tight to his hand as they entered the main tower, and she was taken aback at what she saw. As far as she knew, the Tel wasn't supposed to have been furnished yet, her requisitions so far related to the Dwemer constructs and the actual structure. The entryway seemed nearly complete, with tables, chairs, bookshelves, cupboards and storage. “What is all of this? I don't recall sending away for the furniture yet.”

“I might have added a few things to the list.”

“What?” She peered up into the upper level, open through a hole in the middle, and saw that it too was entirely furnished. “Why? This must have been terribly expensive!”

“Most of it came out of the money you already put down, after I convinced a few people to come up with a better deal. You may not have much influence yet, but I can move a couple mountains if I need to. I did put in for a few extra shelves and chests, though, this place didn't have enough storage for someone who does as much alchemy as you need to. Come upstairs.”

Still overwhelmed by the seemingly vast amount of things she now owned, she followed along to the upper levels. The main study was large, and led off into an upper bedroom and a smaller one on the side. The far corner had the storage he mentioned, along with a long table full of alchemical equipment and a potion rack. One stacked shelf was filled with several small containers, labeled for the ingredients she used most. Nearby were copies of her preferred enchanting and alchemy reference books. Everything she had needed and used in Tel Vos was duplicated. She approached the corner, looking over everything with astonishment. “Hah, I don't know whether to be flattered or worried that you know what I need so well.”

“I'd suggest flattered, since I also added in a teleportation platform. Eddie and I both tested it while you were away and it can link to anyone else who keeps one open to you.” He gestured to a far wall, where a slightly raised platform awaited use. It had a teleportation glyph carved into its surface, just like the one in Tel Vos. “There's one more thing, though, that I think you will be even more interested in.” From a pocket he withdrew a sealed letter, handing it to her with a grin. “This arrived shortly after you left for Tel Mora.”

She knew what it was the moment she saw it. It was a letter from Barenziah, complete with her official seal and colored envelope. She snatched the letter eagerly, opening it with care. A few sheets had been enclosed, and one of those papers was immediately obvious. “My term of exile is up, from the look of it.” The letter looked to be quite long, and she sat at a nearby bench to read it over. She motioned for Aryon to have a seat as well. “Barenziah dropped a few hints around Helseth about myself and the Dark Brotherhood, that was a rather dangerous thing to do. I hope she's being careful. Oh this is quite long, I'll have to save this for later.” Exasperated, she looked over at him. “Anything else you want to spring on me?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “There is one more thing, actually.”

“Oh by the Gods...”

“I spoke with the guard I told you about, the one who was previously posted at the Ienith mine in Tear. I wasn't sure when exactly you would come back and I do need him out there guarding the south. As soon as I described you, he knew exactly who you were. He was the very guard who was sent to purchase you from the orphanage. He wasn't sure, but he suspects it's still there and he knows where it is. If that wretched woman is still there, we might be able to... convince her to tell us where you actually came from.”

Her eyes narrowed at the memory of the matron, the tired, angry, paranoid mess of a woman still a vivid image in her mind. “I like the sound of that.” She suddenly perked to attention, looking to the teleporter. “I smell Eddie's magic, what is he doing here so soon?”

In a flash Eddie appeared on the platform, frantically looking around the room. As soon as he spotted her, he rushed to meet her, looking disheveled and worried. “There you are. You wouldn't believe what is going on in Sadrith Mora right now!” He drew a bound yellow book from his pack, waving it at her dramatically. “Those damned Mouths are spreading this rot all over town!”

Laje-tal hastened to the platform, taking the book with a scowl. “What is this?” She paged through the book, her teeth bared, hissing. “That damned fetching s'wit! I'm going to scour his hide from his back with the scales of a daedroth!” Her oaths grew even fouler as she started speaking in Jel, Eddie looking more and more mortified at her language. He knew enough Jel to know exactly what she was saying.

“By Azura, Laje-tal, would you be mindful that some of us can understand that?”

Thankfully that was enough to stop her raving, though she obviously still seethed under the surface. She handed the book to Aryon, her tail lashing in anger. “I think this is well enough to qualify as an insult to the house!”

Aryon glanced over the book, puzzled, making a face at its contents. “Bah, Curio again. _The Lusty Argonian Maid_? It's garbage, but what does this have to do with the house?”

She barely held back a groan. Well, he wouldn't know. “Aryon, Laje-tal is my marsh name. When translated to the common tongue, it means Lifts-her-Tail. I worked as a maid for those Imperials, and they often had visitors from House Hlaalu. This vile excuse of a man was one of those visitors and every damned day he was there, he tried to get me to do all sorts of strange things for him! Oh!” Her teeth gritted as she thought back on the incident. “Blast, now I understand why he asked one of the maids if he could watch her make butter. This damned play has some of the things he asked me to do in it! Anyone who knows the meaning of my marsh name and that I was rumored to be a maid will think this sounds very much like me!”

It was rare now for Aryon's eyes to blaze with the intense rage he used to frequently display, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Did he recognize you when you went there recently?”

“Oh, he did, alright! I made it quite clear what my rank is and that I would have none of his advances. Damn it all, I have to leave him be until this whole Hortator mess is over. When this is done, though...” Flames came to her hands just at the thought of it, raging around her in a wild inferno.

Eddie, ever the voice of reason, calmed her with a hand on her shoulder. “The right thing to do would be to inform Curio of his error and allow him a chance to retract the play. If he refuses, you can challenge him to a formal duel. Give him a few chances, make the challenge public so all know of your intentions. If he refuses, he will be seen as a coward. Whether you win or he abstains from the duel, the play will fail. Think, Laje-tal. Use your head.”

“I know,” she said with a weighty sigh. “I'll give that idiot a chance to right his wrongs, but if he fails I will not hesitate to issue a challenge.” A grateful smile on her lips, she gripped his arm firmly. “Thank you, Eddie. This is the right thing to do. It's only fair that I give him at least one chance, all he's done so far is say the wrong words. What happens afterward is of his own doing.”

“What of the other Mouths?” Aryon asked.

“I'll let them be. If I react to this, it will only encourage them to keep going. If I earn enough favor with the other Masters, they may be inclined to control their Mouths on their own. I was just released from exile and I had best mind myself.”

Eddie perked up at that. “You can go back into Deshaan?”

“Yes, I just got the letter. We can go to Mournhold again! I wonder what they're showing at the open theater. Can you imagine, finally being able to go down the grand bazaar again, over to that bookshop you really liked? We can go to the Winged Guar and-” she stopped, clamping her mouth shut before she said another word. At the mention of the bar in Godsreach, Eddie had that faraway look in his eyes again. She cleared her throat nervously. “Ah, I only need to go look into the matter of the Dark Brotherhood. I would, of course, need someone here in Vvardefell to watch over Tel Uvirith if I do that.”

He took the offer with a wan smile. “You know you can count on me for it. Well, I'm here now, I'd better take a look at this housepod I supposedly have! How did I even miss that while I was here?”

Relieved, Laje-tal followed after him as he left the main tower, cursing the fact that she had gotten carried away. Damn, but she had been too excited to go back to the familiar places she had enjoyed so much, she had forgotten how Eddie had moved to Vvardenfell to forget. He hadn't even left the island in the past few years. Aryon caught her gaze on the way out, and she turned to him with a slight shake of her head. No, she wouldn't interfere. There had been far too much of that already.

 

* * *

The alchemical mixture now stewing in the calcinator looked to be as boiling as her mood. Laje-tal stood over her work, frowning down at the nearly complete batch of potions. Tel Uvirith still wasn't quite set up for making potions yet, and many people infected with the Blight had traveled to Vos when they heard she would be handing out potions for minimal cost. It was all that kept her from going out into the practice field and burning down all of the encroaching vegetation there.

Surprisingly, the task she needed to complete for the Zainab Tribe had been the least problematic one to accomplish. She had been able to discreetly observe Savile at the slave market and get a feel for other things the woman might be willing and able to do, and the slave she had in mind for the tribe had been eager to find a match. The Ashkhan had seemed very satisfied with her as well, and though he later confided that he knew Laje-tal had tricked him, he agreed that a true high-born Telvanni would have been both a burden and a bore.

Right now, the Hlaalu were the ones who were making her scowl down at the innocent potion she was concocting, her tail batting against the wall behind her with barely contained anger. Despite all of her attempted bribes, fair words and appeals, Crassius Curio would not retract the filth he had written. No, he wanted it to exist as a memory of their time together! He had given no consideration to what she might think of that! She cursed to herself in Jel, readying the potion to be poured into the awaiting bottles. At last the final batch was finished, and she set them aside to cool as she cleaned up.

One good thing that had happened was seeing the look on Orvas Dren's face when she presented the note he very much didn't want anyone to see, waving it in his face as she shot him a wide grin. Oh but he was so very upset that an Argonian had gotten the better of him! Two other Hlaalu councilors under him named her Hortator without any further convincing once Dren gave the word, and the other councilors agreed to name her Hortator after a bit of persuading. Too bad Curio would have to stay alive long enough for this whole mess to be over with. When this was over, though, she would insist on a duel for her honor.

Laje-tal crated up the bottles and heaved the box to her chest, walking it down into the town below. A few guards had offered to take the other crates down already and she brought the last, joining them by the docks at a long table filled with smaller boxes and the crates. Dozens of ailing Dunmer men and women, and a few of other races, waited nearby. So many of them were suffering from shakes, weariness, mental instability and immobility. Many who came were impoverished farmers and laborers, unable to pay for potions, a mage, or travel to a shrine. They had also often been refused service by the chapel healer in Vos for their inability to pay. That simply wouldn't do.

At the table, Aryon stood ready, looking over the vast number of people who had come for aid. He was naturally very concerned at how many there were, and she knew he too was worried about how far and wide the Blight had spread. She approached him with her crate, laying it down with the rest. “Alright, this is it. They can pay two coins for each bottle or donate one helping of any alchemical ingredient. I set up an empty crate at the end to return the bottles to.”

He gestured to the smaller boxes laid out around the table. “Is that what these smaller ones are for? The ingredients? Why aren't you just giving the potions away if they can't pay?”

“I could, but that would be too difficult for some to accept,” she explained. “You know how proud the Dunmer are. Accepting charity is unbearable, and this gives them a simple way to pay for it. The ingredients we collect can be used to make potions for others, so it's not for nothing that we collect them. It will contribute to the cause and keep their honor intact.”

“I don't think Yakin appreciates the sentiment.” Sure enough, the sour-faced restoration master of the Vos chapel was standing just outside the chapel door, glaring at her. Aryon scoffed. “I think this is an excellent idea. Farmers and laborers are often the proudest, and I'm sure they would find outright charity to be degrading. It's enough that you're giving a discount if they return the bottles. Alright, I'm ready to offer a cure spell if anyone can't take a potion. Let's get this crowd back on their feet.”

Laje-tal beckoned the closest individuals forward, Drelan standing nearby to help anyone who had trouble making it to the table. She stood openly as the Arch-Magister, no illusion or different clothing to hide herself. There was no point now, she was the Hortator and Nerevarine, and everyone knew it. Her illusion may still come in handy for surveillance, but she hoped to use it as little as possible. One by one, people struggled up to the table, and she greeted them by name if she recognized them. Drelan helped an elder woman forward, the woman offering a portion of marshmerrow. “Thank you, Idrasa, is your daughter well?”

“Oh yes,” Idrasa managed, her creased face spirited in spite of her illness. “Thank you, Arch-Magister, I do hope we are not a burden on you.”

“Not at all. You brought quite a bit of marshmerrow, I can certainly use this for restoration potions. It's no trouble at all, don't you mind it. It's a fair trade.”

Aryon watched the progression, wondering just how many of these people Laje-tal knew since she addressed so many of them by name. He was beginning to feel a little guilty for not knowing his own people as well as she apparently did. As a few he recognized passed by, he made sure to refer to them by name as well. Eventually the line was nearly gone, small groups rejoicing in their newfound health on the outskirts as others left to return to their work. An unexpected small group of Ashlanders then came up to the area, all looking to be blighted. Each offered their portion of ingredients, but it was then that Yakin couldn't take it anymore. The Temple priest nearly charged over to the table, getting almost right up to Laje-tal's face. “What is this? These are Ashlanders! Are you going to help these godless infidels?”

She took his words as calmly as she could, waving him off. “Of course I am. They are clearly all suffering from the Blight, and they have brought payment as agreed just like everyone else. Stand aside so they may be aided.”

“I will do no such thing! It's bad enough that Master Aryon allows the likes of you here. You damned Argonians are responsible for martyring Saint Roris and starting a war over a trivial slave rebellion! I, too, will not deny my faith in the Tribunal and what that stands for, even if you are here playing at being the Nerevarine! Pah! I should have you turned over to the Temple!”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Saint Roris,” she stated, “and I have never interfered with anything you have done here in relation to the Temple or its teachings. Many of Vivec's lessons are good, sound ones and I have not objected to you quoting Saryoni's sermons loudly as I pass you by in the street. Vivec worked like a common farmer in the fields of Kummu for a woman whose guar had died, displaying humility and respect for the lowest among us. He did it for free, too,” she said with a glare. “I may be the Nerevarine, but I think I understand quite well the concepts of what the Tribunal have been trying to teach.”

By now Yakin had attracted the stares of several nearby people, all of them looking on with a mixture of uncertainty and distrust. He edged away to head back into the chapel. “Bah, help the Ashlanders, then! You will get your own for serving the Daedra!”

Laje-tal shook her head at him as he left, greeting the band of Ashlanders with a smile. One woman neared, a very small, new baby in her arms. “Azura guide you, Nerevarine. My child is as blighted as the rest of us, can you heal her with a spell?”

Aryon leaned forward, placing his hand on the child's brow, the blue glow of a curing spell lighting the area. “There, that should do it. Come take whatever you need, you've brought more than enough ingredients for all of you.”

At long last, all who had traveled to Vos were cured, leaving only those who were unable to travel. All who needed to take bottles with them had brought extra ingredients to make up for the cost of the glass, and by the end of it the boxes set aside were full of several varieties of ingredients from the region. Marshmerrow and wickwheat made up the largest part of what was brought, enough to create dozens of potions to restore health. Anyone hurt in the area wouldn't have to wait long to be treated. Each box was taken back into the tower, guards and townsfolk volunteering their efforts. When it was all finished, Laje-tal retired to the library, collapsing on the couch with exhaustion. It had taken days to make that many potions! Aryon soon joined her, rubbing away the tingle of magic from his hands. She offered him a small container of salve from her pocket. “Here, this should help.”

“Thanks.” He took a generous dab of the mixture before handing it back, working the salve into his palms. Slowly the magicka burn eased away. “Damn but the Blight has gotten so much worse. I know we had a terrible ash storm but did you see all those people? Even Ashlanders, and they live with this all the time out in the wilds!”

“At least we can help in some small way for now. Until the Blight is gone, I'll do what I can to help the people here.” She glanced his way, a mixture of emotions warring in her expression. “I don't know what to do next. I have become Hortator and Nerevarine, and I know I must defeat Dagoth Ur, but how? His connection to the heart of Lorkhan is likely much stronger than it is with the Tribunal, and he could be protected by any number of wards and enchantments. He may be protecting the heart as well.”

“I heard that Archcanon Saryoni has been seeking you out,” he said. “I think you said that the persecution of the Nerevarine was to end as part of the prophecy, correct? Having you fulfill the prophecies under the Temple's permission will look good for him, seeing as it's inevitable anyway. If you do this with the Temple's blessing, they might be able to save some face.”

“Yes, I was just thinking that. I will see what he has to say. I do wonder if perhaps Vivec might meet with me. He would know about the heart and how to sever the tie. I might be able to ask him about his plans for Baar Dau.” She heaved a sigh and leaned against him. “Aryon, I'm so very tired.”

He took her nearby hand in his, understanding that her weariness was from more than just the exertion of the day. As the true Nerevarine, the very future of Vvardenfell depended on her fulfilling the prophecies and ending the hold that Dagoth Ur had on its people. Many consequences of doing so were unknown, but she knew as well as he did that it had to be done. It was already written long ago. He only offered what little he could to assure her. “I know. I am here.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Within the cavernous depths of Yakanalit, Tenvaril unlocked the last slave bracer on one of the Khajiit slaves, the woman purring with content. “S'rendarr bless you, kind one.”

His hands rested on her arm, inspecting her with restoration magic just like the others. “It's my pleasure. Are you hurt?”

The woman tensed under his grip. “This one learned not to fight when the masters ordered work.”

He stilled with a frown. All of the slaves but one in this cave were female, and there seemed to be no mining going on, only the collection of various treasures and contraband. All injuries treated so far were sprained wrists, twisted tails and aching backs. He had an idea about what their work might have entailed when it wasn't about hauling boxes. “There will be no more of that. You and the others are free now, and you can be taken back to Elsweyr if you wish. I can arrange for the trip.”

A long, tense silence fell over all of the slaves as they looked to each other for an answer. None of them seemed to know what he meant. “All of us have always been here. Our mothers and fathers were always here. Grandfather only spoke of other places one time before the gray-skins killed him.”

His lips pursed with worry. These people wouldn't understand the concept of anything other than this island, never mind foreign concepts like Elsweyr. They may never have even seen anyone other than their fellow slaves and the slavers. He would need to be careful not to overexcite them. “I see. Not to worry, I know people in the Twin Lamps who can tell you about the lands beyond here and help you find a new life in any place you might wish. Come, there is a boat awaiting to take us to Ebonheart. Please follow me.”

Tenvaril led the small band of slaves out of the cavern and to the shore, many of the slaves squinting in the bright light of the sun. Nearby, Eddie was preparing the small boat they had borrowed, a moderate sized, covered fishing vessel that could hold all of the slaves under the cover or down below. Few ashore or on other boats would bat an eye at a lone Dunmer man out fishing if they saw him pass by. Eddie beckoned the group closer. “I'm sure you're tired of being in dark, cramped places but you'll need to hold out a bit longer. It isn't a long trip, but you can't be seen above deck.”

The slaves didn't seem to mind the inconvenience if it meant being free, and gathered together under the cover, keeping their heads low. Tenvaril fished through a box he had left on the boat, pulling out an outfit often used by Ashland scouts. The suit fit over his normal clothes well enough, and the mask with its dark goggles and face cover easily hid his blindfolded eyes and golden Altmer skin. He would need to go without his staff both on the journey and in Ebonheart, but it wouldn't be the first time he had needed to do so. “I'm ready.”

“Alright, let's go.” Once Tenvaril was seated with the slaves, Eddie shoved the boat out to shore, using a long pole to guide their way through the shallows. Most fishing vessels like the one he had chosen tended to stay near the shore, rarely venturing into waters deep enough to require rowing or large sails. He prodded the vessel along slowly, keeping an eye out for any other boats around the isles. In the distance, other much larger fishing ships and tiny skiffs skirted the waves, casting their fishing poles into the depths of the sea. Going out of his way to avoid them would be suspicious, so he made his way to Ebonheart as directly as he dared.

After an hour of travel, the tall towers of the Ebonheart council building loomed on the hazy horizon, leftovers of the ash storm a couple days prior still fogging the air. A few fishermen on a skiff waved at him as he passed and he waved back, holding up one of the fish he had caught during the trip. Tenvaril stirred, handing out clothing to each of the former slaves to wear once they reached Ebonheart. “I suspect we're nearly there. Here, put these on.” Each slave put on their assigned clothing, looking like common fishers. One was dressed as a guard in steel armor, a sword at her side. “If you would, please take with you all of the crates that we salvaged from the cave. Those treasures are to be donated to the Argonian Mission here in Ebonheart and will help pay for slaves such as yourselves to move on. It will also make it seem that this is why you have traveled with us.”

One of the Argonian women grumbled at the thought of the slavers left dead in the cavern. “If those things the slavers hoarded can serve to get us out of this place, I will help.” The others muttered agreement, ready to take out their share.

“Excellent, thank you.” He paused when Eddie tapped the guiding rod against the hull twice. That was the signal that they were nearly in port, and he got to his feet to listen to their surroundings. There were many people coming and going, boats creaking, orders shouted, blades being sharpened, all overlaid by the sound of ocean waves lapping against the shore. The lone male slave, an Argonian, tapped him on the shoulder.

“I can share a box with you and guide the front so you can follow after me. If I tip the box, you will know there are stairs ahead.”

He took the offer with a grateful nod. While he could just as well follow the sound of the cluster of seashells Eddie had tied to himself for this purpose, there were often so many people coming and going he could lose track in all the noise. “I would appreciate it, thank you. Let's take the box of armor, I know that will require both of us.” A scuff of wood on stone resounded as the crate was lifted from the dock and the corners eased into his waiting hands. Eddie came close, his voice quiet.

“Be careful, the crows are down from the rafters.”

He tensed. “Their hunger makes them bold.” This just made things worse. The Camonna Tong were in Ebonheart, and every one of their group would need to be on highest alert. They proceeded carefully but with enough of a casual air to not be suspicious. He kept an ear out, ready if Eddie gave any signals in their code.

“The dragons found them. Let's hurry.”

Their pace increased, and he held back a sigh of relief. The Imperials wouldn't tolerate much from the Camonna Tong, and frequently had to fight off the braver members. Thankfully they made it to the Mission with no further trouble, though an Argonian greeted them with a wary tone as they entered. “Good day, travelers. What is your business here?”

Tenvaril recognized the voice right away and removed his helm. “It's been a long time, Im-Kilaya! I have brought you a few people who could use a fresh start.”

Im-Kilaya spotted Eddie, however, and turned to the man with a hiss. “You! What are you doing here, Telvanni? I know you, you're the Mouth of that turn-tail Arch-Magister!”

“He is with me,” Tenvaril explained.

The Argonian only glared at Eddie harder. “Have you seen the Twin Lamps?”

Eddie answered immediately with their pass phrase. “They light the way to freedom.”

Still unconvinced, he did at least motion for the former slaves to enter. “Bring them in, then, but I still want answers. You must agree that you are most suspicious, considering who you work for.”

He held back a sigh. He had known this would come up, but he wasn't sure how much of the truth he should give. Too much, and someone could blackmail Laje-tal. Too little and he may well be attacked. “I would feel the same in your situation, but you can confirm that I'm in the Lamps by speaking with Lenassa Hlaalu in Tear. Arch-Magister Laje-tal and I have agreed to do away with the slave market in Tel Aruhn, and I suspect that slavery will, in general, fall out of favor with the Telvanni in Vvardenfell now that Gothren has been eliminated and replaced with an Argonian who is sympathetic towards the struggle of slaves.”

One of the Argonian slaves looked over at him with utter disbelief. “Your Telvanni Arch-Magister is an Argonian? You can't be serious!”

Im-Kilaya only hissed with barely contained distaste. “It is so, but one must wonder why. You have done what you came here to do, Telvanni. Get going before I decide what I wish to do with you.”

He didn't need any more reason to leave, and nodded politely before exiting the Mission, Tenvaril close behind. The Altmer put a hand on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze. “You did what you could.” Instead of releasing his hold, he lingered, head lowered slightly. “Might I hold on to you while we head back to retrieve my staff?”

Eddie huffed, regarding him with a worn, tired gaze. They both knew that he was quite able to make it back to the docks without holding on to anyone, but he wouldn't deny the small comfort. “Go ahead.” He allowed himself a good, hard frown, knowing the other man couldn't see it. After all this time, he really thought he would be able to handle being in Tenvaril's presence without the past constantly nipping at his heels, but his now sour mood was evidence to the contrary. Inwardly he berated himself for his inability to focus.

Once at the boat, Tenvaril took up his staff and the boat was left in port, soon to be retrieved by another of their members for return back to the Deshaan province. From there, it would go on to Mournhold. Damned Mournhold. Eddie scowled as they both used a spell of Recall to return to Tel Vos, enough on the outskirts of town to not be seen. He tried hard not to give any outward signs of his internal struggle but as always, Tenvaril knew more than he should. “You are terribly stressed. I doubt you are worried about the Argonians at the Mission. What is troubling you?”

“It's nothing,” he lied, resisting the urge to pace. “I'm... tired. I just need to rest, there's been quite a bit of work needing to be done between freeing these slaves and setting up Tel Uvirith.”

He didn't believe Eddie for a minute, but he allowed the lie to pass unchallenged. If he didn't want to talk about it, that was his choice. “Very well. I will be in town if you need anything.” With a tilt of his head he leaned on his staff, the conflict plain in his tone. “If you want to tell me, I will be here.”

With that Tenvaril left, bothered by the silence that endured as he searched for the road leading down into the town with his staff. The texture soon turned from soft grasses into packed dirt, and he followed the sound of the sea as the path diverted. Cliff racers cackled in the distance, and the toll of a bell on the ship harbor clanged loudly over the bustle of the workers below. He soon found the market, farmers hawking their wares, metal on metal clanging at the smithy, and vats of tanning fluid running at a boil. He had not expected a sudden tap on his shoulder. “Good day, Tenvaril.”

He turned, recognizing the somewhat familiar voice. “Master Aryon, correct?”

It was indeed Aryon, and the man in question hummed in surprise. “Yes, you have quite a knack for remembering voices.”

He chuckled. “Well, being blind has made me quite a good listener. What brings you here today?”

“Ah...” Aryon hesitated, the slightest tinge of worry in his tone. “I realized I have been a bit negligent in communicating with the people of Vos lately, so I came down here to see if anyone needs anything. I'll also admit to doing a bit of shopping. I assume your task in the cavern is finished? Is Eddie back?”

“Yes, it's finished, and he is back. I expect he's going on to the Tel.” He paused, feeling the shift in the air. “You seem to have some things you wish to speak with me about.”

Aryon balked, surprised by his perception. “What we might discuss would be better said among fewer ears.”

“I understand. Lead on.” A slight shift on the gravel sounded as Aryon turned to the far side of town, leading the way to the outer homes. One home had been abandoned for quite some time, only the faint scurry of rats in a corner showing any signs of life. It smelled dank and dusty, and he could feel underneath that ashy soil had been drifting in under the door crack. Said door closed, creaking on its hinges.

“I hope I'm not bothering your shopping at the market.”

“Not at all,” he said pleasantly. “I don't mind answering any questions you might have. After all, we have been using your home for our meetings, even if we do try to stay away from your tower. If Laje-tal thought it was alright to bring you to our meeting, she must find you trustworthy.”

“That, or because I already know too much,” he said with a laugh.

“Perhaps.” His staff searched the side of the room, tapping as it hit a chair. He sat down, the worn furniture creaking under him. “The Twin Lamps are, by necessity, very secretive. There will be things I can't tell you. I had better ask you how much you already know, lest I say more than I should.”

Aryon found an equally noisy chair, settling himself on it warily. The old thing didn't look very steady. “Laje-tal told me about the orphanage and how she was purchased for the mine, then how she and Eddie escaped from there. I had suspected those two still did some work I shouldn't know about.”

“She told you about the mine?” It was Tenvaril's turn to be baffled, and he tilted his head back in thought. “The orphanage, too? Blast it all, what got into her head? I understand that you were her patron during her rise in House Telvanni, but she made an oath to not speak of those things to anyone else.”

“It wasn't intentional,” he started, explaining how Laje-tal had been badly injured and how the evidence of her scars had been unavoidable. “I still don't know who those Argonians were or where they came from, but she had brought an escaped slave to Ebonheart not long before that. I can't help but wonder if the Argonians at the Mission tipped a few of them off about her being with the Telvanni.”

“It's probable,” Tenvaril mused. “They were very upset at Eddie's presence and knew quite well who he worked for. Im-Kilaya is very distrustful of anyone who isn't an Argonian or Khajiit, and has only been kind with me due to all of the work I've done for the Lamps. I have missed so terribly much since Laje-tal left Mournhold! I would have liked to do more to communicate with them, but I suppose it couldn't be helped.”

He replied after a moment of thought. “It's true you wouldn't be able to read anyone's letters, but someone could have read them to you.”

Tenvaril deflected the statement with a shake of his head. “I do much of my work in the wilds, and I'm not fond of couriers or other such folk being aware of my private business. Even when we use our code, it can sometimes be understood.”

He huffed. “That's how I got roped into this whole mess. Laje-tal was given a coded message to deliver to one of the Telvanni for me, but do you know what she did? She decoded the damned thing and used it as leverage to get me to sponsor her in the House!”

“That sounds like her,” he said with a laugh. “She would sometimes intercept scouts and couriers since she stayed on the outskirts of the caravan guard, and solved the codes in their messages.” With a sad smile, he wondered just how much he had missed. While it really hadn't been all that long, he felt the absence of their previous ease of communication as firmly as he felt the ground under him. “Master Aryon, I hope I don't ask too much of you, but would you tell me what has happened since Laje-tal came to Vvardenfell? Eddie has told me a few things, but he's been terribly busy and I suspect he doesn't want to tell me much even if he wasn't.”

Aryon knew quite well what was wrong, but he wasn't sure if he should say anything about it. He doubted that Tenvaril would be pleased to know just how much Laje-tal had told him, and it was none of his business anyway. Instead he spoke of all he was aware of, the exile to Vvardenfell on assignment from the Imperials through the Queen, how she had come to join the House, and her rapid rise through skill and careful plans. He explained the Nerevarine prophecies, and how those had come to be fulfilled. Then, there was the matter of how both of them were now immortal through their affliction caused by the corprus disease. “You know the rest, I believe.”

“So you are both now immortal due to this disease, since it couldn't be entirely cured. It's a real tragedy, to have to live on while those around you fade. It's hard enough as it is, with our lives being so long. Oh, yes, I do have some notes for Laje-tal, though I suppose Eddie is delivering them as we speak. It seems impossible to me that a few mages would be able to divert the moonlet if Vivec fails to do so. It might be possible if a contract with a Daedra is made, or something to that effect, but I'm sure you know how risky that can be. It may be better to evacuate the city and hope for the best.”

“Would that work, though?” He sighed, knowing that many people would refuse to leave Vivec City. They were all so very certain that Vivec would protect them, that nothing could happen to their city, many would stay as everything crumbled around them.

“Whether it works or not, we must try. If she is truly the Nerevarine of prophecy, all will be thrown into chaos in everything having to do with the Temple. There will be rioting, looting and death, all while a terrible moral spear will be thrust into the hearts of the hardest believers. Their Gods will have deserted them, powerless and weak.”

Aryon rose to his feet, the long conversation on a rickety chair enough to make him anxious. “What should we do, though? Walk right into Vivec City and tell them Baar Dau is going to fall onto the cantons?” He paced harder than ever, circling. “I'll ask Fyr about it, and Baladas. If they can also make the tie between the severing of the heart link to that of the fall of the moon, it would give more weight to the claim. We need to be careful who we tell about the Heart of Lorkhan and how the Tribunal is getting their power, but those two already know about it.”

“The fewer who know about the Heart, the better. It's just as likely that some may take this information and try to manipulate the Heart.”

“Agreed. I wouldn't breathe a word of this to Neloth. Damn, I'd better get what I need from the market before it closes. You can enter my tower, if you wish. I'm sure Eddie won't mind putting together a few notes for you.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Tenvaril replied, his voice drawn with worry as he rose as well. “I don't think that being in Vvardenfell has been agreeing with him well. Ever since he left Mournhold, he has been so very distant. Nobody even knew why he left.”

The figurative door had been opened, right into what had been making his mind burn with curiosity. He wanted to know what happened in Mournhold, but he resisted temptation. He settled for trying to simply ease the situation along. “I can't say I know much about the situation, but maybe something happened to make him want to leave. “

Tenvaril stood there so very still, head down as he thought, and stayed still for such a long moment it almost seemed like he had forgotten Aryon was there. “I had best get to the Tel, I think, to think over the matter of Baar Dau further. I suspect I distracted you long enough from the market, and I had best get Laje-tal her fish before I forget about it.”

“Fish?” He followed after as they left the house, back down to the bustling market. The change in topic was welcome, and he went along as if nothing just happened. “I don't recall her asking for fish.”

“Oh, she won't, and she didn't, but I know she will want it. She will eat whatever is put before her without complaint, but like many Argonians she particularly enjoys fish. Sailfin, in this case.”

It was true that she had never voiced any sort of food preference, but given her past, she was likely just grateful that there was food to be had, and plenty of it. “I had better come along, and make sure the merchants give you a fair bargain.”

“Not to worry,” he said with ease. “They have learned that I'm not to be underestimated.”

Aryon only pressed on through the market with him, intrigued. “Maybe you can show me a thing or two, then. Let's see if we can find the freshest fish in the market.”

 

* * *

Laje-tal faced Aryon with a worried frown, her golden eyes searching his. “I hope what you said helps.” He had come into the tower to find her making more potions, this time for her own use. Since being infected by corprus, her resistance to poison had only grown and she had needed to formulate a much stronger poison to reduce her magicka because of it. She had been surprised to see Tenvaril come into the tower, laden with sailfin for dinner, and he found himself explaining what just happened. “I'm so worried I might say the wrong things to them, I've already done too much to harm their friendship.”

He came to her side, automatically stepping in to help with the work. “I know it isn't my place, but I do wonder what happened.”

“I don't know why said as much as I did.” She sighed, passing him a jar of ingredients to add to the alembic. “You are not so involved in this situation to not see the problem objectively, though, and I think I knew that somehow. Let's finish this batch first.” Several prying eyes and ears were always around in the form of guards and residents, and she resisted leaning closer. The mixture was nearly finished, and before long several bottles of the enhanced poison were ready and packed away, the station cleaned quickly. Only when they were within the upper library in Aryon's chambers did they address the subject.

“You don't have to tell me,” Aryon said firmly, heading into the inner study.

Laje-tal only paused for a moment, knowing she wanted to finally tell someone. It had been so long that only the three of them had known about the incident, never telling anyone. “We all went to Godsreach as we often did, down to the Winged Guar. Everything started off as it usually did, getting a bit to eat and drink and settling in for the evening. Tenvaril was talking with Hession, the publican, about some sort of news from Summerset, I don't remember what. He is a rather attractive man, and some women weren't shy about flirting with him. You know how some young Dunmer women are.”

“They will make eyes at anything that breathes and moves,” he said with a huff.

“Right, and he didn't know what to make of the attention. He would sometimes joke around that they only flirted with him because he couldn't tell if they were ugly or not, but it made him very uncomfortable. He hates to cause trouble, so he would often let them cling to him for a while before he excused himself. Whenever this happened, Eddie would start to drink harder. Nothing ever came of the attention, but it still bothered him every time. For some reason, Eddie became particularly drunk that day. Whether he didn't eat enough or he asked for something harder than flin, I don't know, but he started telling me everything. Neither I nor Tenvaril had known for sure until then that he had no interest in women, but on that day he told me, and confessed that he was taken with our friend.”

“He never told you before that?”

“No, I think he was a little embarrassed, though there were some pairs around Mournhold that were the same gender and few paid them little mind. I had already guessed, of course, after knowing him for so long. Being my young, ignorant self, I told him that if he wanted Tenvaril, he should just go right over and say so. As drunk as he was, that's precisely what he did. I was too far away to hear what was said. I learned about what happened next on the day after, since I had been called away just then to deal with an altercation in town and had to stay elsewhere. Only then did I realize what I had inadvertently caused.”

“Oh, you mean...”

She nodded. “Yes, it was that sort of mistake. I don't know how or why, because this is not at all in his nature, but Tenvaril took advantage of him.” Aryon drew back in surprise, and she gestured helplessly. “I know, I don't understand it either. Eddie wouldn't say a word about it, and Tenvaril doesn't know that I know at all. Tenvaril disappeared for several days afterward, nobody knew where he had gone. After that, all I know is they agreed to never speak of the incident again.” Her hand met his, gripping lightly. “That's partly why I've been so very careful with you. I didn't want to repeat that mistake.”

His hands came to rest on her waist, and she readily returned the gesture. “I'm grateful for that.”

Despite her ease with their contact, she felt terrible that she was here with him while her friends were barely able to work together. “I feel so guilty for my involvement in this, but at the same time I know I couldn't have predicted something like that happening. Gods, Aryon, Tenvaril dedicated his life to the Twin Lamps to free the oppressed, I would never have believed he could do such a thing if anyone but Eddie told me.”

He gave her an assuring nod. “What's done is done. You did as you thought best at the time, based on what you then knew. All you can do now is listen, and help where you're needed.”

“That's true,” she said quietly, leaning slightly on his shoulder. “They will need to sort this out themselves. I only hope they can.”

 

* * *

Eddie finished enchanting the last of the items on the pile of contracts he was assigned, the belt in question imbued with a strong fortification spell. Thank goodness that was the last one! So many orders had come in, and while it was very good for business, it was exhausting. Right now he was in the room he had borrowed within the services tower, packing away the finished items into their boxes to be sent back to those who commissioned the enchantments. He was halfway through when he heard a tap on the door. While the interruption was unusual, it was even more so to see who was on the other side. “Tenvaril? What are you doing here in the Tel?”

The man hovered just by the door, hesitant. “Master Aryon allowed me access. Might I come in?”

He wanted to sigh and say no, but that would be too suspicious. “Alright, I don't have much in the way of chairs, but you can use this one.” The chair he had just vacated was not taken, however, as Tenvaril only stood just inside the room, clearly tense. “What-”

“Am I the reason you came to Vvardenfell?”

The question caught him off-guard as completely as Tenvaril interrupting him. He considered his answer carefully, trying to keep his tone even and nerves calm. Why was this coming back up out of nowhere? Hadn't it been enough to leave things as they were? “I came here for a few different reasons.” Despite his attempt at control he frowned, feeling the slightest bit of spite. “Whether you're part of those reasons doesn't need to interfere with our work.”

Surprisingly he smiled, leaning on his staff with a sigh. “It's always about the work, isn't it? Well, it's true enough. This does not need to interfere with our work, but I will break the silence. We need to talk about what happened between us.”

“There's nothing left to say,” Eddie replied with unmasked bitterness, torn between anger at what Tenvaril had done and the strong affection that still lingered. “You said to never speak of it again, to forget it happened. Well, I tried, damn it. What more is there?”

He neared just the slightest bit closer, everything he wanted to say not coming as freely as he had hoped. The weight of months upon months of guilt, self-loathing and regret left him struggling for words. All of this was his fault and he knew it. “It shouldn't have happened like this.”

“Like this?” He scoffed. “Is there some other way it should have happened? Should it have happened at all? Weren't you so desperate you would have taken anyone? Why me? Why didn't you just take one of those women who were hanging around you if it didn't make any difference?”

Tenvaril came close enough to place a hand on Eddie's shoulder, staff set aside, having a rare moment where he regretted not being able to see. He knew in theory that Eddie said more with his face than his words, often hiding his true feelings behind a careful tone and cautious phrasing. All he could do was take a page from Laje-tal's book and be direct about his own thoughts. “The thought of taking one of them never occurred to me. When you came to me, saying how you had felt about me all these years, I wanted so badly to believe it was true. I wanted to believe that it had nothing to do with your state of mind at the time, that you felt that way even without the alcohol. That's why when you asked me for only one time, I couldn't refuse. I thought it was the only chance I would ever have, and I would have done anything for you in that moment. I know I was mistaken to make use of the situation, that's why I left for several days. I was so horrified by what I had done to you.”

A sinking feeling surged through him, realizing that all this time, Tenvaril had been burying the same feelings behind his carefully constructed mask, his cool demeanor rarely faltering. How long had this gone unsaid? The truth of what had happened eased the pain, a thin glimmer of hope left in the ashes. Things should not have happened the way they did, but he could finally reconcile the fact that it had happened. He took Tenvaril's hand in both of his, hoping he could communicate his expression through their touch. “I may have been completely out of my mind, but I meant everything I said.”

The admission struck like a physical blow as he realized just how very wrong he had been. “Oh, I've been so stupid!” Tenvaril grumbled, easing him into a light embrace. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“We've both been stupid.” He leaned into the embrace, resting his brow against the man's collar. “I should have said something a long time ago, but... well, you know how I am when I'm mad.”

“That I do,” he agreed with a chuckle. His hand met the side of Eddie's face, relieved to feel the smile that slowly formed. “Alright, we're both idiots. Do you think we can start over, Drevis?”

He huffed a laugh, not bothered anymore by the use of his actual name. It no longer killed him a little inside to hear it. “I think we can do better than that.” Without hesitation he closed the distance, leaning up to kiss Tenvaril, finally at peace when the kiss was returned in full.

 

* * *

Laje-tal sat at her desk in Tel-Uvirith, alone, stewing over what had come of her visit to Vivec City. For all of her insistence, pleads, and angry outbursts, Vivec had refused to say anything about what he was going to do with the moonlet hanging precariously above his city. He told her anything else she wanted to know, how to use the artifact Wraithguard, where to find the other two artifacts, who to ask for help, yet he said nothing whatsoever about Baar Dau, only turning aside and changing the subject. It didn't help that she found his gaze just as unnerving as Almalexia's cold stare.

She sighed, looking over Eddie's notes on Tenvaril's theory about the moonlet. Only days after arriving, Tenvaril had opted to leave Tel Vos, staying on the outskirts of the tower until he could be relocated to Tel Uvirith. The two other Altmer in the Tower, Rimintil and Andil, had been completely unnerved by Tenvaril's presence, the two going out of their way to avoid him whenever possible. Tenvaril wasn't bothered, as he was very used to such behavior and worse by now, but he asked to move on to Tel Uvirith to avoid causing Aryon any trouble. Aryon had tried to ease things around the Tel, but it couldn't be helped. Thankfully Tel Uvirith was still not staffed, and if anyone had a problem with working near Tenvaril, they could damned well leave as far as she was concerned. As it was, everyone who had been offered to come work at her tower refused.

On the corner of the desk, the pile of rejection letters waited to be dealt with. Even the somewhat more desperate Telvanni weren't desperate enough to work under an Argonian's leadership, Arch-Magister or not. It was a conundrum she had hoped wouldn't happen, but still expected. At least the Tel itself was guarded by Dwemer constructs, which didn't care who they worked for.

A brief surge of magic signaled Aryon's arrival, but she stayed as she was, too intent on the information about the Sixth House base in Odrosal. He soon came to her desk, looking down at the stack of staff refusals. “What is all of this?”

“That would be the reason this Tel is empty,” she said wearily. “Hah, maybe I should just make the rest of my staff out of Dwemer machines.”

He flipped through page after page, his frown growing when he saw some of the comments left in addition to the formal refusals. “Not even one?”

“One of the vampires nearby in the Galom Daeus ruins showed interest, but I'm not sure if she can tolerate surviving only on the blood of creatures instead of people. I was very firm with her about that. I did manage to work things out with the rest of the vampires there, they will leave my tower alone and I will leave them alone. At least they are more tractable than all of these folks looking for work.”

“They know the Telvanni have always been more accepting of vampires,” he mused. “I can hardly believe it, though, some of the staff I asked after have been looking for work for months!”

“If they want to turn down an Argonian to beg for their bread on the side of the road, that's their decision. Between myself and Tenvaril, I think we'll chase off all but the bravest of souls. I like that notion, actually.”

He groaned, wondering how they were going to fix this. All Telvanni towers subsisted by hosting merchants and craftsmen, and he doubted that Tel Uvirith could get by with only a few people running things. “Even the more tolerant Imperials would hesitate to work here. What will we do?”

Just then Tenvaril came into the room, having heard their troubles from the nearby storage area. He bowed his head in thought. “If you don't mind others like myself around, I know a few people who could use honest work. It's very difficult for castoffs to fend for themselves on the Isles, and impossible to find employment.”

Laje-tal hummed in approval. “I think I know which Altmer you mean, and they are surely welcome to come here. They will make far better workers than these Telvanni. Alright, I suppose I will check with that vampire again and see if she can commit to my conditions, as well as the presence of you and your friends. She's a Breton woman, so I doubt she will mind you if she can agree to work with me. Could you check with the others in the Lamps to see if they know a few folks needing work?”

He smiled. “Laje-tal, there are always people looking for work, many with hardly any prospects. You had best keep those letters of rejection, because I suspect those people will moan and fuss about you not hiring any true Telvanni in your tower! You can show they were given the chance if they cause too much trouble for you.”

“That's a good idea.” She took a moment to file away the letters into a small box, feeling better about her own prospects. “Well, that's solved, at least. Damn it all, I couldn't get a thing out of Vivec about the moonlet. Not a word! Every time I asked him about it, he ignored me! What was he thinking? He must know he is the only one with the power to divert it. Is he just going to let it fall?”

“He might do that,” Tenvaril muttered. “Preparing for the worst scenario is all we can do if he refuses.”

“Bah, I've had quite enough of refusals. While I was in the city I tried to get that Hlaalu lecher to remove his play from circulation. Can you believe that fool tried to grab at me? I will be sending out a very formal and very public challenge soon, though I doubt he will accept it.”

Aryon listened on with a smile as they discussed the matters at hand, relieved that a solution to the problem with the Tel was in the works. Staffing Tel Uvirith with castoff Altmer and vampires was certainly unconventional, but she was being no more eccentric than any other Telvanni. If anything, she was very much a Telvanni, making use of all available resources. “Did Vivec at least have some details about Dagoth Ur?”

“Oh, he was quite willing to talk my ear off about that. He referred me to quite a few people to get more information, which is why I've been away for more than a few days, and I think I have about as much as I can get on the ruins I need to visit next. I need to find two artifacts, plus I have this Dwemer gauntlet. It's just like that dream I had, every detail is the same.”

“Were there any other dreams?”

She leaned back in her chair to regard him with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “A few that were uninteresting, and a few that repeated, nothing more about the artifacts. I think I should bring the artifacts to Yagrum before I actually use them. Since they are all Dwemer make, he might have some thoughts about them. In theory I should be able to use them without consequence if I also use Wraithguard, but it wouldn't hurt to have him take a look.” Her placid glance turned into a scowl. “I can also settle the score I have with that fetcher Vistha-Kai! I owe him a twist to his horns!”

Aryon couldn't blame her for wanting to get back at Vistha-Kai after what happened. He wouldn't interfere if she landed a few hard punches to the Argonian's face. “I don't think Fyr would object as long as you don't kill him. Fyr might even be wondering why you haven't come by to do that already, if he thought to think of you at all. I'm sure Yagrum will give you his honest thoughts about the tools, even if he can't help you with them.”

“I can ask him about these books, too.” From a pack nearby she brought out three peculiar books she had found in different Dwemer ruins, one written both in the Dwemer language and Aldmeris. “Would you look at this! Aldmeris and Dwemer in the same volume, translated! It's illegible in quite a few places but the parts you can make out are enough to get by. I'll bet this can be used to translate some of the other two books if someone knows Aldmeris. Yagrum would have to know at least something!”

“Let me see that!” Excited, he looked over her shoulder, taking in what legible words there were. “Oh, Baladas would love to see this!”

“I already showed him, he said he believes this one here, Divine Metaphysics, is about the Dwemer trying to make a mechanical god using Kagrenac's tools and the Heart of Lorkhan. Something about manipulating the earth bones through tonal energies? In this third one here, The Egg of Time, you can see a drawing of a heart, Lorkhan's heart, and two tools striking it. They look just like the tools I saw in my dream. So, apparently these tools altered some sort of tone to draw power from the Heart, which we know the Tribunal did. I think that if I can try to understand what these tonal energies are and what they do, I might have a better idea on how to sever the connection. Then again, maybe I won't. Even when Baladas explained it, I knew I was getting in over my head in trying to piece this all together.”

Beside her Tenvaril chuckled, moving towards a nearby bookshelf. “I sense a very long bout of you waxing eloquent about all of your theories, and I doubt I will have much to contribute. Why don't you select the next set of slaves we'll go after while you talk Master Aryon to death?” He touched the side of the shelf, following the books stacked there until he found the bag of keys. Laje-tal eyed the open sack with a sigh.

“Don't you two want a chance to pick one?”

“I don't mind it. You did want to be involved, after all.”

“Fine, fine.” She reached into the bag to select a key when she was struck with a completely unexpected vision, taking over her senses instantly. It felt nothing like the dreams and visions she had had so far, this one oddly smelling of soaked wood, leaves in the sun, and the Hist sap she had been given long ago. She could hear someone talking to her, but she was too far removed to understand it. A hill appeared in her sight, one she didn't recognize, deep within a marsh and a strange ruin in the distance. Stone in the shape of a Daedric rune shot from the ground, a plane of fire reflected in it like a portal. It tainted the ground beneath, cracked, dry soil sprouting plants she had never seen before. A soft, insistent voice called to her.

_Come. Defend. Protect. Destroy._

Daedra of every size and shape appeared from the portal, ranks of Dremora, atronachs and other lesser Daedra marching straight toward her, on into a city she knew was there but couldn't see. A band of Argonians in foreign armor met the Daedra with immense ferocity, cleaving through the beasts with swords and spears. It seemed the flow of Daedra was never-ending, the Argonians hard pressed to turn them away. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, the vision all but ripped from her mind.

By now Aryon was accustomed enough to her lapses that he wasn't particularly concerned, though he still shook his head at the occurrence. “I hope Azura has the good sense not to send you these visions in the middle of a fight.”

“This one wasn't from Azura,” she said, her voice rough with the strain the vision had put on her. Hastily she pulled a sheet of paper from the shelf and a twig of charcoal, drawing out a rough sketch of what she had seen in the vision. While she was no artist, she had needed to sketch out enough technical drawings to get by, and soon it resembled the scene well enough.

“What is that place?” Aryon peered over one shoulder, his hand on her other. “The Bitter Coast?”

“No, see this ruin? Even the strangest Dwemer and Daedric ruins look nothing like this. It does somewhat look like the old Dunmer stongholds, in a triangular, tiered sort of way. It's plain stone, though, a little less refined. I think this vision came from the Hist, from this marsh, so perhaps this is in Black Marsh.”

Tenvaril set aside the rest of the keys, now intrigued by her description. “You say it is triangular, but in tiered levels? Stone, in a marsh? It sounds like an Argonian ziggurat, from what I've heard, built by ancient Argonians on several sites. What else was in this vision? Maybe I know of the place.”

She took his hand, and traced the shape of the strange portal on his palm with her finger. “A stone portal in that Daedric rune shape came up out of the ground.” Briefly she described the dream exactly as she had witnessed it, the sounds and smells still vivid in her mind. “I feel like this will happen in the future, though nothing in the vision indicated when. What could this be, though? Some sort of invasion of the marsh? I could feel the Hist calling me away from here to defend it- oh, blast! Smokeskin! I wonder if he would have seen something like this?”

“It is unlikely that the Hist would only call out to you, an Argonian who hasn't even been to the marsh. I suspect many other Argonians should have received the same message if the Hist thought it would need protection. Why, though, would a mass of Daedra attack Black Marsh? There would be little to gain, and Argonian natives defend their land viciously.”

Laje-tal racked her mind for anything the Daedra could want. The alien power of the Hist? Destruction of infrastructure and people? Subjugation? It was nearly impossible to perceive the plans of even the Daedra they understood. “Who can say? I think it would be prudent to make plans in case something like this spreads to Morrowind. Let's keep getting those slaves out of here and on to wherever they feel they are needed.” She then realized that she had grabbed a key just before the vision struck, and handed it over to Tenvaril. “I almost forgot I even grabbed this thing. Here's the next one.”

He took the key, running his thumb over the embossed tag. “Rotheran it is. You know, this may work to our advantage. You will be able to resist the pull of the Hist easily since you are well rooted in Morrowind, but I'll bet you that many newly taken or poorly adjusted Argonians will be clawing at their cages, and anyone lodged with them for that matter. It would be the perfect argument against perpetuating slavery here in Morrowind.”

“Might as well take whatever we can work with. I'll send a few subtle inquiries out to see if any other Argonians are acting in an unusual way. We'd better not have any working here, either, in case they get the notion to run off. Would you please ask Eddie to look for any information on incidents like this that may have happened before? I know you're not exactly here to help me, but I would appreciate it.”

Tenvaril only waved off her concerns. “It's no trouble. It's only fair, since Eddie is expending so much of his time on this effort to liberate the slaves of Vvardenfell. I am aware that having a subordinate who frequently wanders off is a rather unorthodox thing in House Telvanni.”

Aryon shot a grin at Laje-tal. She readily returned the look. “I've been made well aware of that.” All felt lighter in the Tel, the companionship and support of her friends taking the edge off the looming troubles ahead. Those troubles, however, would not stay silent for long. That night when all of the notes were finished and books marked for reference, well after she had retired to bed with Aryon beside her, the memory of the vision haunted her mind. She could feel the Hist still calling her, and she fought away its influence. There was no way she was going near that cursed swamp. Instead she moved closer to Aryon, reminding herself why she was here. This was her home.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

A strong gust of wind blasted through Ghostgate, the howl echoing eerily through the halls of the Tower of Dusk. Yet another ash storm was raging outside, and Laje-tal was stuck here for now. She had come to Ghostgate to speak with several Buoyant Armigers about their experiences in and around the Ghostfence, and anything they might know about the inner ruins. All of that was done, and she only had to wait out the storm. At the edge of the bar near the wall, she quietly ate her meal as she read over the notes she had taken. She hadn't noticed that a strange Imperial man took the stool next to her, his sudden appearance startling her out of her concentration.

The man next to her appeared to be in the Legion, wearing the steel cuirass of a man of rank. What was really strange was that he seemed familiar, his old, tired face an echo of someone she couldn't place. He turned to her, his lined face creasing further with his smile. “Quite a place, isn't it? So what's your story, Argonian?”

Amused by the strange happening, she decided to tell him the truth. “I'm the Nerevarine. I'm here getting details about the area before I go defeat Dagoth Ur. What about you?”

He chuckled. “I'm an old Legion veteran who has seen his share of war and strife. I came to get a good look at what hell is like. Damn these old bones of mine, though, I can't make it any farther than this. I'm as old as that poor old Emperor, bless his soul.” His armor creaked as he pulled a coin from his pocket, handing it to her. “Think you could do an old man a favor and take this old lucky coin with you up to the mountain for me?”

Laje-tal took the coin, looking it over. It seemed very old indeed. “Certainly. It's strange, but I think I know you from somewhere. What was your name again?”

“I'm Wulf. Just Wulf. Take care of that coin, would you? Sort of a token of the man I once was.”

“If it's that special to you, perhaps you'd better keep it,” she deferred, wondering if she should hand it back. He only shook his head, leaning forward onto the bar.

“No, no, keep it. I've been wanting to give it to a young hero like you, someone who's going somewhere, someone who is going to do great things in their life. You're going places I can't go anymore, shaping this nation's history. Can't let old dogs like me think they can change the world. Old dogs don't get any new ideas, you know.”

She knew how Imperials felt about their aging in comparison to the longer lived races, and she sought to reassure him. “Oh, you're not that old, surely.”

“This whole Empire is getting old, just like the Emperor,” he mused. “The Legion has done all it can to hold this Empire together. It's been a pretty good thing, you know, but maybe it's time for a change. Something new, I don't know what.”

Suspicious, she looked at him closer, but all she saw was a worn out man who had seen more than he ever should have. “Change... You mean to the Empire itself? An end, even? What could possibly replace something like that? I'm sure the Legion wouldn't give up their Empire without a fight.”

“Change is often messy,” he agreed, running his hand through his thin hair. “You can't expect to keep the same old thing going on forever, though.” Slowly he rose from the stool, groaning as his joints creaked. “Take that coin with you, it will bring you luck. I'm sure of it.”

She took out the coin to look at it closer, the ancient thing worn and dirty. With the corner of a napkin she rubbed the face, the raised surfaces gleaming. The coin was so beaten up, the year almost illegible. Then, finally, she could see it. Third era, 38th year, the same year Tiber Septim died. That was well over three hundred years ago. When she looked up to ask more questions, the man was gone. Not a single person she asked in the bar had seen the man she described. She returned to her spot, confused, wondering about the peculiar stranger who had vanished without a trace.

 

* * *

Laje-tal had found a fair use for her illusory self, Lenassa, in helping her with the Tel Aruhn slave problem. She surreptitiously watched the area for two days, noticing that any Argonians being kept as slaves had indeed become restless. One hissed at anyone who came by, completely unfazed when Savile yelled at him. He butted his thick curved horns against the bars to no avail. In disguise, Laje-tal approached the market, slowly passing by a few onlookers.

“By Azura, would you look at that one?” she said, pointing at the Argonian man. “He looks about ready to bite someone's head off!”

A nearby woman seemed to be having the same thoughts, and looked at her with a worried frown. “I know, he was just fine last week. I heard that nearly every Argonian in the province has all but gone mad, many of them just disappearing from their homes and shacks! Oh, what about...” The stranger shuddered, looking around warily. “What about the Arch-Magister? Did you know she is an Argonian? Perish the thought, what if she goes mad too?”

Laje-tal leaned closer. “I heard that she has heard about this too and is coming here today to see for herself! Everyone who has seen her recently say she seems fine enough, apparently she's not bothered at all by this insane marsh frenzy that has all the others in a tizzy. Honestly, I don't know why we even bother with slaves at all if it's going to be like this.”

“Well, it is our tradition,” the woman reasoned.

“A tradition that's more trouble than it's worth! I'd much rather pay for a worker than keep around some wild Argonian who might shove a knife in my ribs at the soonest opportunity! Ugh, I can't stand the sight of this.” In a huff she left the market, going round the central square a few times to browse before escaping into the outskirts. For the next couple hours she waited, giving enough time for Lenassa to have been all but forgotten about. Then, finally, she emerged as her own self in her official robes, coming to the slave market as if she had just gotten there. Oddly enough the same woman strayed from the other markets again to watch as the slave grew more vicious, trying to swipe at her with his claws. She screeched and backed away, noticing Laje-tal approaching.

“Oh! Arch-Magister, thank goodness!” She neared, her dark hair escaping from her neat bun, fine clothes being fussed with by her nervous hands. “Surely you can explain what is happening! I... I mean... can you? Do you know? Ack!” She cowered again when the Argonian man growled. “Nearly all of these Argonians have gone insane! What is wrong with them?”

Laje-tal held her composure, standing tall and firm before her and Savile. “From what I have heard, all Argonians in the province have received a vision, myself included.” Her skin crawled as a torrent of influence from the Hist surged through her veins. No wonder the man looked about ready to kill. “Some cultured Argonians have been able to resist the primal pull of the Hist, but slaves such as this man are still fresh from their birthplaces. They, above all others, are the worst of the sufferers.” She nodded to Savile gravely. “I know this may come as most unusual, but for now I recommend there be no more use of Argonian slaves. It will be impossible to sell a mad slave, and much too risky to put such a slave with any other person nearby.”

As expected, Savile eyed her with suspicion. “Oh? And what, then, do you suggest... Argonian?”

Laje-tal waved off the concern. “I speak not as an Argonian, but as a logically thinking person. I am not the first to bring up this suggestion, and a few of the upper council have agreed that this is the safest option. Consider the Telvanni who have already forgone slaves, or only keep a scant few about. Baladas and Dratha don't have any, and Divayth Fyr and Master Aryon only have one Argonian resident each. There will be hardly any interruption to service at all at those towers. Here, though, and Sadrith Mora? The Telvanni cantons, the Hlaalu plantations? How many things will now go awry simply because they still keep Argonian slaves?”

Savile seemed to consider that notion, no doubt thinking of the mess that was likely happening at the cantons at that very moment. “Yes, I suppose that's true.”

“I know that the call of the Hist is a difficult thing to explain and understand for those who never experienced it, but I assure you it's a very strong influence. I'm resisting it as we speak, and it has come and gone in waves, varying in strength since it started. There is no telling how long this may go on, even I couldn't tell from the vision I received when or precisely where this odd event will occur.”

She peered at the Arch-Magister with a wary eye, her feelings mixed. It was true that every Argonian questioned had received a vision, though none had been open in talking about what they saw. All had agreed, though, that they felt the mysterious pull of the Hist, compelling them to leave Vvardenfell. “How can we be sure of you not leaving or going mad like the rest? How long do you really think you can resist this compulsion? From what I've heard, even those who have never been to the marsh are feeling the urge to leave, in spite of all that ties them here.”

“I have considered that,” she stated, not denying the possibility that even she might be overcome. “I have found myself able to resist as it is. As far as I can tell right now, those of us who feel little tie to our ancestral lands can refuse the summons if they wish to, and I will refuse. I am and always have been a resident of Morrowind, and I have no intention of leaving. I have made arrangements if the worst should happen, but every effort will be made to continue business in House Telvanni without incident.”

Offset by Laje-tal's forthright admission, Savile took a moment to respond, considering the still-pacing slave. “I suppose that's all that could be asked of you.” She had the grace to appear the slightest bit apologetic. “Pardon me, Arch-Magister, I often forget there are Argonians who have little to no tie to Black Marsh. I did hear that Skink in Sadrith Mora was confounded by the incident but also had no intention of leaving Vvardenfell. Damn it, though, this will make things difficult.” She bit her lip in thought, crossing her arms. “While Khajiit are popular as slaves, that won't be enough to keep this market going. Other races aren't as preferable and sell slowly.”

“Have you given thought to other work?” Laje-tal asked in the plainest tone possible. By now, the third woman had moved on from their group, reassured that the Arch-Magister wasn't a threat. She could offer her full attention to Savile, and she needed to be careful with her words.

“Other work!” She gestured back at the market. “This has been my only work for years! If this gets worse, I'm ruined!”

“Well, now, I wouldn't say you're out of options just yet,” she mused, taking a relaxed stance. “All over the province there will be Argonians abandoning their work, and those workers must be replaced. You have a true eye for character and I'm certain you would be able to interview potential workers and assign them to the right place and people. The house makes plenty enough money to hire on workers instead of taking a chance with slaves. A person working under the coin is far more reliable than the one working under the whip.”

Savile grimaced. “Yes, one of your fellow Telvanni came around earlier saying much the same thing.”

“I understand how important your livelihood is,” Laje-tal continued, “but perhaps this is a sign of the times. Nowhere else in Tamriel keeps slaves like Morrowind does, and even on the mainland many areas have already done away with it. I have looked at the general sale records and aside from the lands of House Dres, a few Hlaalu lands and those few Telvanni who keep slaves, sales have been slowly dwindling over the years. There has even been talk in Mournhold in past years about outlawing slavery entirely. When you look at the facts, it is only a matter of time before it falls out of favor.”

“Helseth's court has been talking about that,” she admitted with a sigh. Long before Laje-tal had even come to Vvardenfell, her sales had been steadily dropping. Even she could see the logical conclusion, one that Gothren had been denying for years. Laje-tal being an Argonian in this case was irrelevant. “Alright, I see your point. What can we do?”

Laje-tal mentally let out a breath of relief, still treading these waters carefully. “I suggest we redirect our efforts towards finding suitable workers for any holdings that have lost their Argonian slaves. I would appreciate your help in this, and I suspect you would enjoy the challenge.” She gestured around the market in a wide sweep of her arm. “Can you imagine this place being a site of industry, a place where craftsmen, laborers and field workers can come to find placement? We have so many who are desperate for work, and here we are bringing in slaves from other lands to do that work! Imagine if everyone can make an honest living here, earning their coin and working with honor.”

That hit the mark, she could tell. The Dunmer were all about honor and pride, praising industry and innovation. Savile started to visibly shift, clearly considering the thought. “Some have come through here looking for work...”

“Work they will sorely be needed for now.” She gave Savile a sly grin. “Besides, think of how Houses Hlaalu and Dres will squirm in their skins when they see us prosper while their plantations lay fallow because there's hardly anyone left to do the tending! We can direct workers to them, surely, for a fee...”

Now Savile returned the grin, finally at ease in her presence. “Hah! Yes, I can imagine it now! We'll be able to get ahead of the Hlaalu, for sure.”

“I intend to always be a step ahead of those damned Hlaalu,” she said vehemently, her genuine disgust at that house coming through. “One of their councilors has written some rot about an Argonian maid, a maid with my very name! Oh what I wouldn't give to show him what happens to someone who crosses a Telvanni!”

“Oh, that one?” Savile asked with a grimace. “Ugh, the council house has been passing that around for a while. Well,” she added with a chuckle, “the Morag Tong does have its uses.”

Laje-tal sniffed in amusement. “Indeed. I have been gracious and challenged him to a formal duel, since he hasn't seen fit to retract that play as I asked. If you ask me, it's too good for him.”

“Far too good,” she stated with a scoff. “I think I have a few ideas on how we might do this. Endase will want to put in a few requests for supplies, though I'm sure you'll approve those right away and send them on to our suppliers. Yes, yes, I can see it now.” She pointed right to where the rough slave cages stood, the wild Argonian man growling. “We could have the merchants relocate here, keeping open stalls instead of having their businesses operating in their homes. Those looking for work can first apply for an apprenticeship to their trade of choice, or be referred on if we're too full. We can convert and expand the slave quarters in the tunnel into apprentice dormitories, perhaps some storage. There will be cost in getting raw materials in, but we can export the goods they make during training and give them a small stipend for their efforts. Yes, not bad, I think this could work.”

Now Laje-tal looked around the open market as well, envisioning what Savile described. It sounded downright brilliant. “I knew you would come up with an even better thought than I had, Savile! Between you and Endase, I think you'll get this place running well. Maybe we can spread this idea on to that man in Sadrith Mora, ah... oh blast, what was his name... never mind, we'll let him in on this too. As many people coming through as there are, we might even get an edge over the Imperials!”

“Hah, that would show those Imperial dogs,” she agreed readily. “Oh, there is going to be so much to do. I've taken enough of your time, I think, Arch-Magister. I can take it from here, if you have other matters to attend to. I'll have to see if I can find someone to take this Argonian off my hands.”

“I'm sure I can take care of that,” Laje-tal replied with a cautiously impassive tone. “I wouldn't mind studying this peculiar effect plaguing him, and I have a new, quite empty dungeon. Would you be willing to release him to my care?”

“Oh, take him.” Savile gestured out into the distance. “What a damned waste, but nobody would buy a vicious slave, as you said. Take some chains, though, he's going to be a handful.”

Internally Laje-tal rejoiced at her small victory. She would have to thank Tenvaril for suggesting this tactic. It was a small start and would require even more caution from now on, but it was a step towards the possibility of eradicating slavery at least in Vvardenfell. One small bit at a time, she reminded herself. “I'll hold him with a spell, let's get him out of there.” Laje-tal cast a strong paralyzing spell while Savile came forth with a set of chains and cuffs, securing him so well he could hardly walk. The man started raging the moment she released her spell and was handed the lead chain.

“Traitor! Foul snake!” His words slipped into Jel, describing many ills he wished upon her and a few foul names even she hadn't heard used before. She only sighed with dramatic annoyance, pulling him along.

“Yes, yes, I know. Come now, I haven't got all day.” She drew him to a nearby open area, a strong teleportation spell in hand. It was very difficult to teleport somewhere without a mark or a rune, but she wasn't Arch-Magister just for show; she could do it just as Gothren had done. In a flash she transported both of them to Tel Uvirith, straight onto the rune of the back platform. Her head tilted to hear if anyone was in the Tel, only the sound of buffeting winds outside disturbing the silence. She looked over the Argonian man closely, noting every mark and scuff on his greenish blue scales. “Well, let's get those chains off and get you on your way. Stay still.”

Narrowed pale eyes watched her suspiciously, a low hiss accenting his words. “You are not my master!”

“Of course I'm not,” she said as she started loosening the chains. “I just don't want you hurting yourself any more than you already have. Stop that!” The man had started lashing his tail at her and she dodged it just barely. “I intend to free you, if you'll just hold still!”

He wouldn't have any of it and only struggled more. “Lying Telvanni bitch!” Laje-tal kicked forth his knee to force him to the ground, pinning him down with her weight.

“By Azura, would you stop this nonsense?” Her struggle to remove the bracers was even further hindered when she realized that Savile hadn't given her a key, and she had her hands too full to check the bag of bracer keys. “I have a key to your bracers but you'll have to let me go get it. I don't suggest you run off.”

Run off he did, though. As soon as she let him up, he bolted for the door, and she finally decided she had enough of it all and let him leave. He'd be back. While she waited for the inevitable, she found the sack of keys on the shelf and poured them all out onto her desk, searching through the tags for the one she wanted. It was then that the man returned, looking completely stricken with fear. She only glanced up at him with a grin. “Ah, I see you noticed the Dwemer constructs outside. You really shouldn't leave here without being authorized or they will certainly attack you. I must also tell you there is a whole coven of vampires nearby, and I don't pressure them to leave rogue adventurers alone. Ah, here it is!” She held up the key she needed, giving him a look. “Well, are you quite ready to let me get you out of those chains?”

The man eyed the pile of keys dubiously, then finally held out his arms for her to get at the bracers. “Fine, but I will not obey you. You can't keep me here!”

“I'm not trying to,” she said, irritated. “I only suggest you let me lead you from the grounds so you don't get attacked. If you can wait, I can have agents from the Twin Lamps take you on to wherever you need to go.”

He glared in disbelief. “Why should I do that? Have you seen the Twin Lamps?”

“They light the way to freedom.” She nodded at his shocked reaction. “I did not intend to go so far as to liberate all of the Telvanni slaves when I joined the house, I'll admit it, but now that I can... I want to help you, and others like you, as I did before I came to Vvardenfell. I'm not an official member of the Lamps, but I have two friends who are. They are at Rotheran right now and I expect them to return in a couple days. Stay or go, it's up to you. You are free,” she added with a smile, unwittingly reflecting the very words she had been told long ago. “You can make your own destiny if you work hard.”

His nervous eyes darted over the features of the Tel around him, taking in the furnishings and items on the shelves. It was certain he had never seen the inside of a Telvanni tower, at least not as a free man, and he seemed to be weighing his options. Finally he seemed to settle, his form relaxing. “I am Han-Kur,” he said quietly, again looking over her pile of keys as she put them away. “Are all of those for slaves?”

“Yes, we found nearly all we need. I doubt I need to tell you, though, how important it is that my involvement in all of this is kept secret. As Arch-Magister, I do have some influence but it will take a great deal of work before the others will trust me. You saw how it was with Savile. I'm certain I can work toward a future for this house that doesn't involve enslaving the likes of us, but I must not be exposed. Make up any other sort of story you wish, say I grew tired of you and let you run off, just keep what I told you now a secret from all others, even other slaves. Eddie and Tenvaril won't be able to get the slaves from secure places like Tel Aruhn and Sadrith Mora, but if I do this just right, I might be able to.”

Han-Kur's eyes seemed to brighten as he looked on with surprise. “You know Tenvaril?”

She gestured him toward the kitchen, guessing he was probably as hungry as she had been as a newly freed slave. “Yes, he's one of my friends. You know him too?”

“Everyone in the north of the marsh knows him.” He was about to follow after her when she suddenly looked back at the teleportation platform, puzzled.

“Odd, I didn't know Aryon was coming today. Don't panic, now. He knows what I've been up to.” Her advisory had been warranted as he did indeed look about ready to bolt at the sight of another Telvanni when Aryon appeared in the Tel. Aryon brought in a moderate sized crate filled with a few odds and ends, clearly surprised to see the new face in the Tel.

“I found a few things you left behind in Tel Vos.” A sly smirk crossed his face as he held up her book on the flora of the Ascadian Isles. “I think I'd better give this back, too.”

She moved his way with a chuckle, taking the book with a casual flourish. “Oh, so you're finally finished with it? No more trouble sleeping at night?”

“No, I'm back to my old habit of recalling Neloth's lecture on the varieties of dirt on the mainland to sleep at night. It's nearly as effective.” The box was set aside on the table, all but forgotten as he looked over the unexpected guest she had. From the look of the man and the loose chains and bracers laying about, he seemed to be a slave she had just managed to free. “I see you've been busy.”

Laje-tal quickly explained everything that had transpired in Tel Aruhn, including the possibility of the slave market being converted into a workhouse. He seemed intrigued, and she found herself getting even more excited about it than she already was. “I think Savile will be just the right person to get things started there.”

“That does sound promising. I might have to stay in Tel Vos for a while, things have been chaotic in the area. I've received word that one of the Grand-Magister's many cousins is intending to visit soon and everyone is fretting over the whole thing. It's under control, but I won't have much time.”

“Damn,” she agreed sympathetically. “Well, it can't be helped. I think I have everything I need for the last mission. I'll be away in a few days, but let me know if I can be of any help. I'll have plenty to keep me occupied until I need to leave.”

He frowned, concerned. “You're leaving so soon? You're not going to ask Yagrum about it?”

“I know everything I need to know, honestly. There's no sense putting it off any longer.” She didn't miss the confused glance from Han-Kur, but she wouldn't elaborate. Telling him she was the Nerevarine would only make things worse. “Eddie and Tenvaril will be back in a couple days, and I am sure they can take care of sending this one on to wherever he wishes. Once that's done, I'll be on my way.”

Aryon's expression said what his words couldn't. They both knew how dangerous invading Dagoth Ur's citadel would be, even if she used the tactic of stealth. “I'd like to come with you.”

As much as she wanted to convince him to stay out of the very danger she was plunging into, she knew he could take care of himself and would be exceedingly helpful in taking care of any of the Sixth House followers. She also knew he could be as stubborn as herself and wouldn't be stopped. “If you can manage it, I'd welcome your help. Are you going back now?”

“Yes, unless you managed to take a few things from my Tel that aren't yours and I need to collect them!”

“Oh go on, now,” she said, exasperated but lightened by his good humor. Only then did she realize just how on edge she had been for the past couple days, agonizing over the fate of Tel Aruhn. So many things now required so much attention and thought, she had become absorbed in her work. The slight break from reality was a relief. Suddenly she shuddered, though, when a surge of energy crossed through her, the same happening to Han-Kur. While he only flinched, she was far more affected, and she had to stand stiffly to keep from losing her balance. Thankfully Aryon had the presence of mind to not overreact, ever cautious of showing any sort of attachment. She stood straight again, shaking off the influence. “Gods, is it me or is this getting worse?”

Han-Kur, though less shaken, still looked rattled by the insurgence. “Those of us who are closest to the Hist will be called the strongest.”

She knew, then, why she was being called with such force. It all had to do with being inadvertently overdosed with that damned Hist sap so long ago now. Aryon also seemed to think the same, though his expression changed little. “I'll be alright.”

Her words were enough to put him back at ease, and he moved back toward the platform to head back to his own tower. “I will await your message, then.” The exchange was brief by necessity, bereft of their usual discussions. Any careless move on either of their parts was too risky, and Han-Kur already knew too much. She now felt as stifled as she felt in Tel Vos, always wary of any eyes watching on. Fully annoyed, Laje-tal pressed on into the kitchen. At least there she could slice hapless vegetables and meats into bits without being scrutinized.

 

* * *

Loud, raucous shouting filled the Rotheran arena as crowds of Dunmer cheered on the fight going on below. Two slaves, an Argonian and Khajiit, had just been shoved out onto the floor, flinching as a few empty bottles were thrown in their direction. Nobody had bothered to clean up the last contender who had fallen in battle, the poor Argonian's corpse left as it lay. Eddie had left Tenvaril just inside the entrance while he infiltrated the stronghold, knowing how to make himself an anonymous onlooker from many years of practice. Tenvaril would stick out as much as any of the slaves below.

Eddie took a swig of sujamma from the nearly empty bottle in his hand, following suit with the others and throwing the bottle down into the ring. He did, at least, intentionally miss hitting the competing fighters as he considered a way to break up the match without getting killed. Everyone seemed to be here in the arena, not a soul missing other than the two guards already dispatched outside. Several Dunmer crowded the bar and the tier overlooking the arena, an unknown number of slaves below. Someone next to him nudged his elbow, the man grinning as he pointed down to the Khajiit and Argonian men now warily circling each other. Soon the fight would be on.

“Hey, who do ya think will win, the cat or the lizard?” The inebriated man slurred. It was only midday but he looked nearly under the table already.

“I don't care,” Eddie grumbled, turning away from the man with a scowl. “A fight's a fight.” The man turned away, disinterested, to ask the same question of his other neighbor, Eddie slipping away toward the bar. There were too many people to fight through to the slaves. He would have to try something more subtle. At the bar, it was clear that there was no way he could slip something into all of the drinks. There were simply too many, all in individual bottles. Any noxious or altering gas could just as easily catch him in it, and a massive sleep spell would affect Tenvaril. That left just one thing.

Affecting illness, he staggered away as if he were leaving to be sick outside. Tenvaril waited patiently by the outer door, facing him as soon as he neared. “So what will it be? I can hear quite a few in there.”

“Right, there are too many for the usual things. I'm thinking we'll sneak you in with an invisibility spell while I head close to the door going down into the slave pit. Then I'll cast a wide-reaching spell of blindness on everyone but myself.”

“A fair plan,” he mused. “If anyone tries to fight, they won't be accustomed to fighting without their eyes. Some might even fight each other in the chaos. I'm ready.”

“Alright, let's get in there.” He waited for Tenvaril to become invisible, the spell long enough in duration to get them to the far door if they didn't linger. Eddie led the way, only the slight pressure of a hand on his back marking Tenvaril's presence. Slowly he weaved through the crowd, mindful of the available space behind him as he pushed on. Finally he made it to the back door, readying the blinding spell. The sudden burst of magic filled the room, hitting everyone within the enclosed space, Tenvaril dropping his invisibility at the same time. Confusion quickly erupted, panicked tones of Dunmer and slaves alike echoing through the arena.

Eddie paced down to the arena pit, knowing they had very limited time. While his spell would last much longer than invisibility, they might need every moment they could get. Tenvaril quickly scanned the area with a brief detect magic spell, counting the spell feedback from each magically altered slave bracer. There were quite a few slaves, all locked behind a series of doors. Soon he came upon the Argonian and Khajiit in the center pit, quietly telling them to be still while the others were collected. Nearby Eddie set about unlocking the doors, several lockpicks in hand and ready.

In a rush they routed the slaves through the exit as some of the men and women above started overcoming their shock, weapons being drawn. Tenvaril cast a ward of Sanctuary on them, causing physical blows to miss their targets all around, followed quickly by Silence to disable magic. Their only goal was to escape, and the room was effectively disabled while still allowing the slaves following behind to run freely. In the chaos they received a few scrapes, Eddie barely holding in a grunt of pain as he was struck, but in all they managed to remove the slaves from Rotheran and escort them down to the nearby shore.

Beyond on the island, the town of Dagon Fel was only a short walk but wouldn't be welcoming to a group of escaped slaves. Instead they planned to take another boat to Tel Vos, where the slaves could be discreetly moved to Tel Uvirith. No time was wasted, the slaves directed straight into the boat even before the inhibiting spells had worn off. Tenvaril set to work unlocking the slave bracers while Eddie guided the boat out to sea as fast as he dared. Halfway to Tel Vos, the spells finally eased off of everyone, the slaves muttering in confusion.

“Stay still,” Tenvaril urged, sensing their restlessness. “We will soon enter Telvanni territory but I assure you you will be taken somewhere safe. Is anyone injured?”

Eddie managed a look back in his haste. “I am.”

“Anyone else?” There were a few replies of minor scrapes, but nothing serious. “I will see to all of you shortly.” He moved up front to lay a hand on Eddie's arm, his magic searching for the source of injury. It had been worse than he expected, a long gash traveling down the length of his left arm. “You were hit rather hard.”

“Some drunk idiot with a sword fumbled into me and I didn't see it coming. That Sanctuary spell can only do so much.” He felt the pain ease as Tenvaril's magic worked quickly at the gash, his flesh mending before his eyes. Before long he could use both arms to guide the boat with little effort. “Thanks. When you're done with the others do you think you could take the back rudder? The current is pretty strong right now.”

“Certainly.” Tenvaril withdrew, lingering just the slightest bit longer than necessary. The slaves were all thoroughly inspected and healed, though they still remained a little dazed from all of the spells used on them at once. One had to lay down, dizzy and disoriented. With the one settled, he took his position at the rear of the boat, gripping the handle to steer the rudder. Soon a tap sounded on the right side, the long guiding pole used to give direction. He veered the rudder, the boat turning more forcibly toward the right. For the next couple hours they continued in the same fashion, guiding the vessel through the finicky waters as the winds increased and the clouds sped overhead, a storm on its way in the distance. Faint sounds of dock workers soon echoed around the grasslands, signaling their arrival at the outskirts of Tel Vos. Eddie exited as soon as the boat was aground.

“I'd better just go in and see if I can find a way to get everyone to Tel Uvirith. I'll be back.” He strode to the tower quickly, knowing Tenvaril could take care of the slaves by himself with no trouble. Inside the Tel, he could tell that a bit more activity was going on than usual, kitchen and tower staff hurrying back and forth. He passed Andil on the way, who shot him a very disgusted look. No doubt he was still upset over Tenvaril. Eddie pressed on, ignoring him.

Aryon, when the poor man was finally found in his library, had his hands entirely full. A loud, irritating noble Telvanni woman hovered nearby as he tried desperately to make himself seem too busy to deal with her. To his continued dismay, he was unable to shake her. The pest was telling a story about her cousin, the Grand-Magister, and she was apparently the most sought-after woman in the province. She might charm some, Eddie thought, with her shadowed eyes and deep red locks, but Aryon wouldn't have it even if he wasn't already involved. Taking pity on him, Eddie approached quickly, putting on an air of urgency.

“Master Aryon, come quick! There is a storm atronach raging in the lower dungeon!”

The look on Aryon's face could have filled an ocean with the gratitude expressed, and he took the excuse to leave in an instant, shoving past the woman. “Damn, not again!” Only when they were very safely ensconced in the deep, lava-filled pit of the dungeon did he pause to sigh in relief, leaning against the wall. “You arrived just in time, my friend. If I have to endure another tale about her relations I think I will be sick!”

“You're a braver man than I,” Eddie replied. “I hope I'm not intruding too much but we've got quite a few slaves from Rotheran we need to move along to Tel Uvirith.”

“Ah, I thought as much. Why don't you go ahead and use my platform to open the way and bring Laje-tal over? She can teleport without a rune if she needs to, and it might do some good to scare that damned woman away from here. She's terrified of Argonians! She shrieked so loud when she saw Smokeskin I doubt his ears will ever work the same again. I think he was more afraid of her!”

“I don't blame him. Oh, and to surround her with not one, but two Argonians! Perish the thought.”

Aryon shot him a thankful grin. “Honestly, though, I think I might need Laje-tal here for a bit. I need a touch of sanity in all of this.”

As he followed along back to the Tel, he returned the grin with ease. “I don't know if I would recommend her for restoring sanity, but I suppose I'll mention how desperate you are.”

“You'd better not put it like that,” he retorted with a chuckle. “Alright, let's get you on your way.” Unfortunately the teleportation platform was in the main Tel near his library, where the visitor now lounged freely. The woman rose as soon as they entered, giving Aryon a look.

“Well, is the storm atronach taken care of? Can we move on to business?”

Aryon scoffed as he passed, activating the rune. “Did we have any business?”

“Of course we do,” she yelled imperiously, planting her hands on her gowned hips. “Have you not heard a word I said? I am a very eligible woman, of a very considerable rank. The Grand-Magister has insisted on my coming here in hopes of making you learn some sense! When are you going to stop tinkering around with your Dwemer constructs and have a proper wife and heirs?”

He froze, his blood chilled. Oh, Gods, was that what she was here for? Quickly he urged Eddie to the rune, giving him a significant look. Laje-tal needed to be here, and soon. It was his only hope of getting this woman to leave without insulting her! Eddie was gone in a flash, leaving Aryon to try to avoid this conversation as much as possible. He deviated, looking over the books with feigned interest. “I see no reason to worry about such a thing right now. I have far too much work to be done, I worry I would neglect any wife I might take. It wouldn't be fair to her to be gone for days at a time for the sake of a project.”

She only sighed with obvious drama, leaning against the shelf in what might have been taken as an inviting gesture. “Such is the burden of a Telvanni bride, isn't it? Oh, I'm no stranger to friends and family spending days away from me while they work on whatever it is they do all day.”

When she advanced, he retreated, taking a book with him. He opened it, ready to actually read it if it would help. “We've barely just met! How can you say you would be willing to have such a life as this?”

“My cousin assured me that Tel Vos is the most prosperous Tel in the province and that it would be to my benefit to consider such an alliance. All I need to do is keep myself away from that Argonian of yours and I can manage.”

It was, of course, at that moment that Eddie returned with Laje-tal, earning a surprised shriek from the visitor. Laje-tal seemed to have left in a hurry, only wearing her Master robes and none of the accompanying decorations she wore as Arch-Magister. She winced as the woman yelled, waving away the noise. “Excuse me, please.”

The woman cringed farther away, back to the wall. “Ack! I didn't know there were two Argonians here! Get away from me! Shoo!”

Laje-tal gave her the widest grin she could, showing every one of her sharp teeth and narrowing her eyes. “You had better get used to me being around if you intend on staying here. I am known to come in at any given moment.”

To her credit the woman faced her fear head-on, pulling herself up in a haughty lift of her head. “Gods above, Master Aryon, do you let just anyone come in here unannounced?”

He merely nodded, as nonchalant as possible. “Not just anyone, of course, but Laje-tal here is quite welcome to come and go as she sees fit.”

Laje-tal passed them all, Eddie following after. “Right now I am going, but I will return once my Mouth's business is taken care of. Good day.” Neither stayed around to hear the yelling that ensued after they left, and she felt bad leaving Aryon to deal with the aftermath. Hopefully her appearance would do some good. She turned to Eddie as they left, brushing dust from his worn clothes. “What is that woman thinking, trying to get herself into Tel Vos? She's truly trying to court him?”

“Yes, and never mind his clear dismissals! She wouldn't budge him an inch, not in a hundred years. He doesn't have time for larking about with women.”

She chuckled. “He doesn't seem to mind larking about with me.”

“That woman wouldn't so much as lift a finger to help the Tel, much less do as much as you have done. All she'd do is complain until she got her way! We're almost to the shore, let's keep an eye out for guards. There's a patrol that comes fairly close here.”

The bright sun was nearly down, the afternoon quickly waning as they finally reached the boat. Tenvaril was waiting, turning their way as he heard their approach. When they neared, however, the slaves edged away to the far end of the boat, unsettled by the sight of a Telvanni, even one of their own kind. Laje-tal paused as soon as she noticed, keeping a respectful distance. “Pardon me, Tenvaril, but could I send you on first? I have a slave who was rescued from Tel Aruhn and I don't think I can let him be alone for long, though I did confine him to his temporary quarters.”

Tenvaril exited the boat with an agreeable smile, nodding to her briefly. “I can also prepare the way for the others. I'll keep an ear out for any mischief. Go ahead and set the rune and I'll head right over.”

She crouched down to the ground, tracing a large, temporary teleportation rune in the dirt with a claw. It was enough to move up to three at a time. When he held out his staff, she moved the end to the center of the circle, showing him where to step. As soon as he was in place she activated the rune, sending him on to Tel Uvirith. The slaves, however, weren't nearly as cooperative, and Eddie hovered over the edge of the boat, trying to coax them out. She tried to remain calm, but she knew the vampires of Galom Daeus would be out hunting after sunset and she wanted to be absolutely sure everyone was comfortable with being in a Telvanni tower by nightfall. “Eddie, it's nearly sunset.”

Startled, he looked up to see for himself that the sun had just reached the edge of the horizon, the light starting to wane. He urged the slaves on, grabbing at them if necessary. “Come now, all of you, you don't want to be out in the wilds at night!” Any reluctance they had faded away at the danger of staying in the Vvardenfell grazelands after dark, the group slowly filing in to be transferred on to Tel Uvirith. Last of all came Eddie, who issued a grateful sigh. “Thanks, Laje-tal. I'll try to get everything settled. They're probably having a fit now that they realize they're in a Telvanni tower, we'll try to keep them from running. No sense letting them run off to become someone's breakfast. Try to save Aryon from a gruesome fate at the hands of that dreadful woman, would you?”

She only sent him on with a chuckle. “Such a horrid fate is one I can't abide! Go on now!”

 

* * *

Upon returning to Aryon's upper library, Laje-tal was surprised to see that the visiting woman was gone. The room was empty, not even Aryon in sight. She went further into his chambers, then finally down below, at last finding him down in his bedroom. He was already laying down, arm over his eyes, clearly fighting off a very large headache. Her hand grazed his chest as she sat by his side, his muscles tensing until he realized it was her. He groaned in pain. “I did something stupid.”

Laje-tal leaned close, moving his arm out of the way to look at him. “What did you do?”

“I told her I was spoken for. I really shouldn't have gone on, but she kept prying at me until I was so damned mad I lost control. I ended up telling her I was with you, and that you are the Arch-Magister. It worked, anyway. I'll admit it was satisfying to watch her run out of the Tel, utterly horrified and red-faced!” He managed a wan smile. “Are you mad?”

She leaned further to kiss him briefly, not a trace of regret present. There would indeed be trouble from this, but there was no going back, and no point in fretting over it. What was done was done. “No. It was only a matter of time before others found out. What can she do? I already have the Dark Brotherhood after me, the agents of the Sixth House, Dreamers and assassins. She might even think you were joking about the whole thing. If she comes back to find out, Smokeskin and I will chase her off.” Her teeth bared in a grin. “It's Eddie's opinion that you don't have time to be involved with women anyway.”

“Not for the sort who only get in the way.” His hand ran over the ridged scales of her cheek, the pounding ache in his head fading at the simple gesture. He had worried a little that his indiscretion would cause problems, but she had a point. Aside from a few snide remarks from other Telvanni, there wasn't much more they had to worry about. Everything was already out to get her. Oh, but why did she have to wear that particular robe? She was as thoroughly covered as a Temple priest, but the fond memories associated with it were more enticing than even the most provocative Dunmer woman. On the occasions she had taken it out most recently, it had been hard to resist not going beyond an embrace. This was only compounded when she sat on his lap, a leg on each side.

“I only intend to get in the way when you need me to.” Her sentiment was accepted as he pulled her forward into a kiss, the stays of her robe threatening to come loose. In her haste to leave she hadn't tied them as tight as she should have. It didn't help that Eddie had called her away when she had been in the middle of bathing, and she'd only time to put on just the robe as it was. The risk of it all falling away made her heart race with a vengeance, the slight touch of his hand now unbearably sensual. It was momentarily terrifying, but she fought the fear back even as her old reflexes tensed against him.

Aryon didn't let loose, resting his brow on hers. “Please don't go.”

Despite the insistent pounding of her heart and the painful surge of desire rousing from her core, she managed to pull back enough to look him in the eye, fueled by the sudden desperation she felt. “I won't.” With shaking hands she took one of his, pressing it to her chest. “I am with you, now and always. I'm not afraid.” What little fear was left slowly eased away when his hand ran down her neck to loosen the already straining stays at the collar, her arms lifting herself enough to give full access to the rest. The robe was quickly undone, his hands delving underneath to pull her close again.

“I'm not either,” he said, his admission somewhat surprising to them both. He had only recently confronted the fact that he was also a little afraid of how close they had become. Years of watching his back for treachery and deceit in the house had been hard to overcome, the worry that she was also trying to use him only fading when she had become his equal. She seemed to understand his unspoken thoughts, the eyes he had once found so unnerving now narrowed in a content smile. His own robe came undone by her still nervous hands, quickly divesting him of it. He gave in gratefully to her unassuming touch, shivering at the texture of her scales. All else faded to nothing, lost in the haze of a fervent kiss.

 


End file.
